MUSINGS AND MEMORIES
OF A MUSICIAN



MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED

LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO
DALLAS SAN FRANCISCO

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.

TORONTO




I/



MUSINGS & MEMORIES
OF A MUSICIAN



BY



SIR GEORGE HENSCHEL, Mus.Doc.



WITH A PORTRAIT



3






MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED

ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON

1918



COPYRIGHT



6



TO

AMY

BUT FOR WHOSE TIMELY AND COMPASSIONATE

RESUSCITATION THE WRITER WOULD

MOST LIKELY BE REPOSING AT THE BOTTOM

OF LETHE WHERE IT IS DEEPEST

THESE PAGES

ARE AFFECTIONATELY

INSCRIBED



THIS book was written and in type before the
War. The courtesy of the Publishers however,
which I take this opportunity of gratefully
acknowledging, has made it possible to make
such happily few additions and alterations
as the deaths, since, of some of the friends
mentioned therein, rendered desirable ; and to
change the name of St. Petersburg to Petrograd.

G. H.

ALLTNACRICHE,

October, 1918.



SHAKESPEARE'S " All the world's a stage " must
appear of particular aptness and truth to the
man who, approaching the threescore and ten
of the Patriarch, reviews his past with the
object of writing down his reminiscences.

Looking back on the events of his life he
sees them as he would so many scenes in an
old stage-play upon which the curtain has
fallen long ago, and the men and women who
appeared in them pass before his spiritual
vision like actors and actresses ; some having
stirred his imagination, kindled the fire of his
enthusiasm, some touched him to tears, pro-
voked his mirth : some perhaps exceeded his
expectations, some fallen short of them; but
all having left some mark, some impression on
his mind, lasting for a longer or shorter period,
according to their part and to the manner in
which it was acted.

I shall never forget a little incident at the
Court Theatre of Weimar long years ago. The
play had been Shakespeare's King Lear. It



2 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES i

was exceedingly well done as a whole, and the
impersonation, in particular, by the chief actor
a member of the regular company of the
tragic and majestically pathetic figure of the
aged king, was a wonderfully fine and powerful
performance. At the end of the play, amid
the enthusiasm of the crowded house, the chief
actor was vociferously called before the curtain
over and over again. At last, when recalled
for the tenth time or so, he seemed quite over-
come with emotion on receiving so great an
ovation in the historical playhouse which could
boast the traditions of Goethe and Schiller,
and, bowing deeply, he was heard to mutter-
audible, however, to part of the audience tc I
think I have merited it." This, many people,
and some of the Press, considered a great piece
of arrogance and self-conceit on the part of the
actor, whilst I emphatically held with the few
who, in that no doubt unusual utterance, could
see nothing but the innocent, in the excitement
of the moment thoughtlessly escaped, expression
of the artist's consciousness of having given,
having done his best ; and I have often thought
since then, how it would by no means be a
deplorable state of things if more of the actors
on the stage of Life could make their final exits
with that consciousness, whether unnoticed or
amid the plaudits of the multitude.



i MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 3

People who care to read a man's " Recollec-
tions " at all are generally supposed to be
desirous of also knowing something of the man
himself. Thus it is that the wish to gratify the
reader's curiosity imposes upon me, strangely
enough, the necessity of commencing these re-
collections with the very fact of which I have no
recollection whatever, namely, my birth ; and
here again it strikes me as rather curious that
that essential and certainly most important
event in a man's life, his birth, should be just
the one he cannot possibly help. Yet, taken
for granted I had raised no objection to being
born at all, I doubt if I could have chosen a
more interesting place for my first appearance
than dear old picturesque Breslau, or kinder,
more loving parents to be welcomed by on my
arrival in this world on the 18th of February
1850, than Moritz Jacob Henschel and
Henriette Frankenstein, his wife.

This being no autobiography, I shall pass
as quickly as possible over the first stages of
my childhood, the events of which, though
doubtless full of importance and wonder to the
happy mother whose only son I was there
were two sons and a daughter by my father's
first marriage would hardly prove of sufficient
interest to be recorded here.

My father, a tall, fine-looking man, poor and



4 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES i

humble, but proud of his Polish descent, as all
Poles are, and justified in being, was a wool- and
coal -merchant who, being busy all day in his
little office on the first floor of the big apart-
ment-house in which we occupied part of the
second story, could not devote more time to
his children than he was able to snatch from
the short- enough meal -hours. It was left to
my mother to see to the education of her own
particular boy, before that I fear not always
very manageable youngster was sent to school.
Anticipating the now popular system of teach-
ing by observation, she was in the habit of
taking me from room to room, pointing out and
explaining to me the different objects in it, and
their origin and use. Evidently, as the follow-
ing example will show, she was anxious to
impress early upon my little mind the folly and
the danger of judging by appearances. In the
blue room, called " the good room " (die gute,
or, in the Silesian dialect, die " gutte " Stube), a
luxury nearly every respectable family aspired
to, there was hanging an engraving, depicting
the Emperor Napoleon inspecting an artillery
depot at Fontainebleau. What a wonderful
thing memory is ! I could draw the pattern
of the wall-paper in that room, and every detail
of the engraving to-day. Next to a heavy
piece of ordnance was standing at attention,



i MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 5

in a beautiful uniform, and holding in his right
hand a long ramrod, a very tall gunner, made
taller still by the huge bearskin busby on his
head. Over the cannon was leaning a little
man in a long riding-coat, high boots reaching
to above the knees, and a queer-shaped, two-
cornered hat, his hands folded behind his back.
To this picture I remember my mother carrying
me, in her arms, when I was still tiny enough
for this ignominious though affectionate mode
of transportation, and asking me, " Now tell
me, which of these two men is the great
Emperor Napoleon ? ' Whereupon I promptly
pointed to the big gunner, and was gently put
right with a smile and a kiss. Do not many of
us remain, in that respect, children to the end ?
I think of " Napoleon at Fontainebleau " each
time I see weight taken for worth.

Another little experience of my early school-
days I cannot refrain from mentioning, which
stands out from the background of my memory
with a particular vividness. It led to the first
keen, almost tragic disillusion of my life, and
also, incidentally, sheds a curious sidelight on
the social economics of a Silesian town in the
early 'fifties of the last century.

Our house in the " Schuhbriicke " (shoe-
bridge) stood at the corner of the Kupfer-
schmiedesstrasse (Coppersmith's street), crossing



6 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES i

which, on the way to school in the morning, I
had to pass, on the opposite corner, an old
woman who, on certain days in the week, sat
there, surrounded by baskets and sacks, out of
which she sold cherries, plums, tiny, but very
tasty, little pears called cinnamon pears, apples,
medlars, walnuts, etc., in their seasons. Being
fond of fruit, I soon came to stand on intimate
terms with her, for whenever I thought I could
afford it my weekly allowance was one
" dreier " (a copper coin of the value of a
farthing) I would stop and, handing her a
pfennig, say, " Please for half a pfennig
cherries and for half a pfennig pears." And I
would with both hands take hold of the hem of
my garment, which was a loose sort of tunic
held together round the waist by a belt, and
make an apron of it, into which the kind
creature showered a handful or two each of the
desired luxuries. Now it must not be supposed
that the pfennig of which I am speaking
was anything like the English penny except
for the similarity in the sound of its name.
Far from it. It took twelve of these pfennige
the decimal system was not introduced into
Prussia until 1870 to make a groschen
(groat), and it was that groschen which was
the equivalent of the English penny. It will
be seen therefore that on those occasions I



i MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 7

feasted on cherries or pears or other fruit, as
the case might be, at the cost of the third part
of a farthing I Can British brain grasp the
grandeur of such smallness ? I may mention
here in parenthesis that eggs were then sold in
Silesia by the " mandel " (fifteen), or by the
" schock " (sixty), and I remember hearing
my mother occasionally complain of eggs having
gone up in price from twenty-five to thirty
pfennige (twopence halfpenny) the mandel !

But to proceed to the tragedy. Farther
up the street there was a big grocer's shop
before which, on the pavement, some of its
particular attractions were arrayed in what
seemed to me a wickedly tempting manner.
Especially was it a luscious-looking fruit which
gave me a pang each time I passed. It was of
the size of an average apple, brilliantly red in
colour and with a beautiful, smooth, trans-
parent skin as of a plum. Oh, to be rich I
thought and for once taste a sweetness such
as this fruit must be full of ! One morning,
seeing the master of the shop standing outside,
I took courage and boldly asked him the price
of " that " pointing to the coveted forbidden
fruit. " Eight pfennige each " was the short,
cruel reply. Eight pfennige ! Nearly three
weeks' allowance ! Still, my mind was made
up I must save, save ! And at last, after



8 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES i

weeks of self-denial, I triumphantly went into
the shop with my eight pfennige, counted them
into the man's hand, grasped one of the largest
of the precious fruit and the big bite I took
did not pass my palate. As fast as my feet
would carry me I hurried into an empty narrow
lane close by and there, unobserved, and in
utter wretchedness physical and moral
deposited on to a rubbish -heap the contents of
my mouth and the rest of the cursed thing, the
like of which for years afterwards I could not
even look on without a shudder a tomato !



II



BRESLAU, the ancient capital of Silesia, that
much-coveted province which, after being ruled
for centuries by Polish kings and German
princes, later became part of the Austrian
Empire, and was finally wrested from Maria
Theresa by Frederick the Great in the second
half of the eighteenth century, since when it
has belonged, as it belongs now, to Prussia,
is the proud possessor of a famous University,
the founders of which must have had a very
high idea of the educational value of music;
for connected with that centre of learning there
always had been, as there is now, an Institute
of Church Music, the performances of which
were not confined to the members of the
University, but open to the public, which
means that for centuries past the founda-
tion of Breslau itself dates from the ninth-
music must always have had a large share
in the artistic pursuits and enjoyments of its
citizens.

At the period of my boyhood that Institute



10 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES n

was flourishing under the guidance of Musik-
director Professor Julius Schaffer, who also
conducted the " Sing-Akademie," the premier
Choral Society of the place, whose performances
of the Messiah at Christmas and of Haydn's
Creation at Easter came as regularly once a
year as those seasons themselves. Schaffer
was likewise the founder and conductor of the
" Musical Circle," a private, very exclusive
singing club, to the membership of which only
people of high social standing could attain ;
and it speaks well for the culture of that class
of society that many of the amateurs who took
the solo parts at the club's performances could,
like Elsbeth Donniges or Count Danckelmann,
have held their own among the best professional
singers of the day. Light and popular orches-
tral music was provided by military bands, of
which there were three or four in the town.
These bands played in almost daily concerts
which during the warm season took place in
the numerous beer-gardens and milk-gardens
situated all along the " Promenaden " shady,
beautiful avenues into which the moats of the
old fortifications had been converted.

To these gardens mothers would, in the
afternoon, take their work and their children,
and many an enjoyable and profitable hour I
spent there, listening to selections from Haydn,



ii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 11

Mozart, Beethoven, Auber, Bellini, Boieldieu,
Donizetti, Verdi, not to forget the then popular
dance-music of Lanner and Joh. Strauss the
elder. I well remember standing for hours at
a time on the pebbles before the pavilion in
which the band played, wondering why the
man up in front there, who kept beating the
air with a short ebony stick with ivory ends,
faced me and not the orchestra; for, strange
and almost incredible as it may seem, at that
time all military, and even some conductors of
popular symphony concerts, used to have their
backs turned to the men. Rather different
from nowadays, when a simple flash from the
eagle eye of one of our Titan conductors will
perhaps produce a fortissimo powerful enough
to shake the casements, or else a raised eyebrow,
accompanied by a gentle wave of the hand,
check the aspirations of a too-impulsive energy
into a triple piano !

The highest class of orchestral music could
be heard during the winter season at the
concerts of the Orchester-Verein (Orchestra
Union), an institution among the active
members of which could at that time be found
University professors, physicians, army officers,
and others prominent in society, and it was
not always an easy task for the, of course
professional, conductor to persuade some of



12 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES n

these enthusiastic dilettanti that their skill
would not advance with their years.

The conductor of the orchestra was at that
time Dr. Leopold Damrosch, a man of great
refinement and culture, as well as of particular
personal charm, who, originally destined for
the medical profession, in which he had already
made his mark his " Dr. ' was that of
medicine finally left it for the art he loved
best, and in which in later years he became
famous on the other side of the Atlantic, where,
to mention only one of his many artistic achieve-
ments, he founded the New York Oratorio
Society, and where to-day, in the city of New
York, his two sons, Walter and Frank, are
successfully continuing the life-work of their
distinguished father. Dr. Damrosch, besides
the orchestra, also conducted in Breslau a
small but efficient choral society of his own,
with which, in contrast to Dr. Schaffer, who
confined himself to oratorio, he gave from time
to time performances of more modern works.
Indeed he was an enthusiastic apostle of what
was then called " Zukunftsmusik " (Music of
the Future), and one of the early champions
of Liszt and Wagner. At these concerts the
Soprano Soli were frequently sung by Dr.
Damrosch's beautiful wife, Helene von Heim-
burg, a singer of rare accomplishments, and



ii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 13

gifted with a most sympathetic voice. Her
singing, for instance, of the part of " Die
Jungfrau " in Schumann's Paradise and Peri
still lingers in my memory, as I am sure it does
in that of all who had the good fortune to
hear it, as something singularly beautiful and
touching.

There was altogether of the opera I shall
speak later on great activity in the musical
life of Breslau, then a town of about 120,000
inhabitants. Among the many music schools
one, of a decidedly novel character, proved to
be of particular influence on my future : a
school for pianoforte-playing, at which that
art was taught in a very original way, invented
by the director, Louis Wandelt by name.

There were in the institute about ten large
rooms, the entire furniture of which consisted
of four, six, or even eight grand pianofortes,
placed in dovetailed fashion, before each of
which there would, at lesson time, sit a little
pupil, and those four or six or eight girls and
boys had to play, simultaneously, the same
exercises and pieces to the ticking of a Maelzel
metronome, the teacher going from pupil to
pupil, noting the application of the fingers, the
position of the hands, encouraging, scolding,
as the case might be, and putting down the
marks in each pupil's little record book which



14 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES n

every Saturday had to be taken home to be
shown to the parents and signed by one of
them. To that school which, by the way, was
also responsible for the primary musical educa-
tion of that excellent pianist Mme. Haas, my
father and mother, who had a deep love and
feeling for music, though practical musicians
only in a very modest way, with voice and
guitar, sent me when I was just five years old,
and I have always been grateful to them for
doing so, for I consider that Wandelt method
of teaching the elements of piano-playing an
exemplary one for children, stimulating, as it
does, the ambition of the youngsters, and,
above all, instilling into them a sense for rhythm
which is apt to stick to them all their lives.

When, in the autumn of 1862, Mr. Wandelt
founded a similar school in Berlin he took with
him for the opening ceremony, consisting of a
public concert, four of his " show " pupils, and
we four played in a real, big concert-hall,
accompanied by a real big orchestra, how
proud we were ! Weber's Concertstuck in
F minor on four pianofortes, I also, with the
leader of the orchestra, Mozart's Sonata in C
for Pianoforte and Violin.

I well remember the pride of my mother as
she packed my little valise for the great journey
from Breslau to Berlin, putting into it, among



ii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 15

other things, a brand new suit of clothes, to
wit, a short broadcloth jacket, richly braided ; a
beautiful embroidered shirt with frills in front,
round the collar and at the cuffs ; a lovely
leather belt and a glorious pair of long trousers,
into the left pocket of which the dear woman
had, unknown to me, sewn a piece of supersti-
tion in the shape of a little crust of bread, to
avert evil. The amusing part of this was that,
as I was dressing or rather being dressed
for the concert and proudly putting my hands
into my pockets, I quickly withdrew my left
with a cry. The dried-up sharp points of the
crust had grazed my skin and very nearly
prevented my playing at the concert !

Side by side with learning to play the piano
I was taught the elements of singing by a
Mr. Hirschberg, and harmony by Professor
Schaffer, under whose conductorship I sang,
when a little over nine years old, the soprano
solo in Mendelssohn's Hear my Prayer at
a concert of the Church Music Society. How
I loved that beautiful air " Oh, for the wings,
for the wings of a dove," and how I flushed
with elation and pleasure when I received a
bright new thaler (three shillings) into the
bargain !

Soon my voice changed into an alto, and
as an " alto - boy " in the chorus of the Sing-



16 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES n

Academic, I took part for some years in the
weekly practices, and afterwards the perform-
ances of the Creation and the Messiah, with
the result that I know the alto part of some of
the choruses by heart to this day. They did
rehearse things then !

From an alto it was a natural step to tenor,
and soon I sang the big tenor arias from the
Huguenots, the Prophet, II Trovatore, etc., with
great gusto and all the aplomb of an old stager,
much to the delight and amusement of my
audiences, consisting mostly of father and
mother and the rest of the family and friends.
I revelled in holding a high B natural or C with
full -chest voice, and already commenced to
see before my mind's eye thousands of people
crowding into the opera-house to hear the
great Henschelini, or rather Angelini, as I
intended calling myself on the stage, when all
of a sudden one fine day, coming to breakfast
and bidding my father and mother good-
morning, the " good," still in tenor, was
followed by a " morning " in what seemed to
me the deepest bass voice ever heard. So
that dream was dispelled, gone for ever, and
I nothing but an ordinary basso, and as such
in July 1866 I made my first public appear-
ance at a concert for charity which we know
for its accommodating qualities as to the



ii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 17

covering of sins. I gave up all thought of
opera beyond a continuance of my love for it
arid my admiration for the singers, of whom
a great many celebrities constantly visited
Breslau as guests. The greatest impression
upon me then was made by that wonderful tenor
Schnorr von Carolsfeld if I am not mistaken,
the first to sing " Tristan " whom one night
I had heard as " Raoul ' in Meyerbeer's
Huguenots. I was completely carried away by
the nobility of his personality, his graceful
acting, his beautiful singing, and gladly suffered
the punishment of an hour's " arrest " in school
the following day for being late. I had met
this glorious man by chance in the street on
going to afternoon school and promptly turned
round and followed him through street after
street, unable to tear myself away, and -utterly
indifferent as to the possible consequences of
my enthusiasm. The opera at the Municipal
Theatre of Breslau was at that time very good.
The " star " system was not known then. All
the singers, women and men, were of a very
creditable average efficient, musical, reliable
and one went to hear the work, not a particular
singer. Oh, for the sensation once more of
having been fortunate enough to secure, for
the week's allowance, which had risen to fifty
pfennige, a seat in the front row of the

c



18 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES n

" Olympus," after climbing up, all aglow with
expectation, the four steep flights of narrow
stairs ! To be thrilled again by the blessing
of the swords in the Huguenots, the casting of
the free-bullets in the Freischutz, the bewitching
wickedness of Don Giovanni, the final triumph
of Fidelio ! Even the shades of those dear
ladies-in-waiting of the Queen in the Huguenots,
old enough then to be my great-grandmothers,
smile their melancholy smile upon me through
the magic veil of memory, endowed with
eternal youth and beauty.

Old Seidelmann, a jovial musician of the
good old school, was the conductor. How I
envied him ! and his activity as well as the
catholicity of the taste of musical Breslau
may be gauged by the fact that operas like
Auber's Maurer und Schlosser, Fra Diavolo,
Masaniello ; Beethoven's Fidelio ; Bellini's
Norma ; Boieldieu's Dame Blanche ; Flotow's
Martha and Stradella ; Herold's Zampa ;
Kreutzer's Nachtlager in Granada ; Lortzing's
Czar und Zimmermann and Waffenschmied ;
Marschner's Hans Heiling ; Meyerbeer's
Huguenots, Dinorah, Prophete, L'Africaine ;
Mozart's Don Giovanni, Figaro, Cosi fan
tutte, Seraglio ; Rossini's Barbiere, Tell ;
Verdi's Trovatore, Rigoletto, Traviata ; Wagner's
Flying Dutchman, Tannhduser, Lohengrin ;



ii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 19

Weber's Freischutz, Euryanthe, Oberon, Pre-
ciosa, were permanently on the repertoire ; that
is to say, every one of these operas could be
heard in the course of the year, with the
addition perhaps, now and then, of a modern
novelty, performed " once in succession." As
I also regularly attended the concerts of the
" Classische Verein " at which the best chamber
music was interpreted by the best local pro-
fessionals, I thought myself not altogether
badly equipped for the Leipsic Conservatory
of Music to which my parents had decided to
send me, having finally had to acknowledge
the fruitlessness of their endeavours to make
me choose a soberer, more stable and profit-
able profession than music was then by them
considered to be.



Ill



To go from Breslau to Leipsic, that is from
one country, Prussia, to another, Saxony, was,
before 1870, quite an event. In Prussia the
silbergroschen (one penny) had twelve, in
Saxony ten, pfennige ; the postage stamps, too,
were different, and the boy about to undertake
so interesting a journey into foreign lands was
quite a traveller, and very enviable in the eyes
of his comrades. It was during the Easter
holidays of the year 1867 that my father and I
arrived in Leipsic. The multitude of foreigners
from all parts of the world who had come to
buy and sell at the celebrated Oster-Messe
(Easter Fair), the hundreds of wooden booths
temporarily erected in the Rossplatz, display-
ing merchandise of every description, the
thousands of people who thronged the brilliantly,
albeit pre-electrically, illumined avenues of the
huge bazaar at night, the strains of merry
music emanating from some subterranean abode
of conviviality, all this made the famous old
town appear even more gay than I had after-

20



in MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 21

wards occasion to find it, and I distinctly
remember the anxious look in my father's eyes
as he bade me good-bye on his return home,
evidently not quite reassured as to the wisdom
of leaving alone in that " little Paris," as
Goethe has called it, a boy of seventeen on the
point of throwing off, for the first time, the
yoke of paternal vigilance and control. Who
could foretell the result of the experiment ?
Was my talent sufficient to " make a living "
of music ? Would I prove morally strong
enough to be alone among strangers, free from
every restraint, exposed to temptations of all
sorts ? . . . Dear old father, how well now I
understand that troubled face !

In due time I was matriculated as a
student of the Conservatory, situated in a
dingy old building in a kind of courtyard at
the back of the old " Gewandhaus " in the
" Neumarkt." The professors to whom I was
consigned were Ignace Moscheles for pianoforte,
Goetze for singing, Richter no relation to
Dr. Hans for theory and composition,
Papperitz for organ. Goetze, an excellent,
painstaking, patient teacher, had as a young
man been the original impersonator of " Lohen-
grin " when that opera was first given in Weimar
under the direction of Liszt ; Moscheles' name
had been familiar to me from his studies for



22 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES in

the pianoforte, and in being introduced to him
I felt a certain sensation of awe on shaking the
hand of one who had seen Beethoven face to
face, and been commissioned by the master to
prepare the vocal score of his Fidelio.

I found him, however, most kind and
sociable, and soon became an almost daily
guest at his house, the presiding angel of which
was his accomplished, beautiful, and charming
wife, a relative of Heinrich Heine's, who
remained a motherly friend to me until the
end of her life.

My lessons with Moscheles proved highly
interesting and profitable, and sometimes
amusing as well. He had been trained in,
and was the foremost exponent then of, a
school of pianoforte-playing as far removed
from the modern sledge-hammer clavier tech-
nique as Mr. Oliver Wendell Holmes' " one-
horse-shay " from a sixty-horse-power motor.
I think the dear old gentleman would have had
a fit if any of us pupils had forgotten ourselves
so far as to lift our hands as much as two inches
above the keyboard. Chopin and Schumann
were the most advanced composers he admitted
for study in his lessons, and I remember well,
playing once a phrase of Beethoven's in a some-
what rubato style, his gently chiding me and
innocently saying, " My dear sir, you may do



in MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 23

that with Schumann or Chopin, but not when
you play Beethoven or me \ ' :

On another occasion I brought him, for his
criticism, a pianoforte composition of my own
of which he had accepted the dedication.
After he had made a slight change or two I
asked him if I now should play to him the
corrected version. " My dear sir," he said
with a smile, " there's no need of that, I hear
it all in my mind's ear I really must tell you
a little story about that. When I wrote my
concerto with three kettle-drums " he seemed
to feel a particular pride and satisfaction in
remembering this then almost unheard-of bold-
ness and revolutionary innovation " when I
wrote my concerto with three kettle-drums, I
came to a ' tutti ' which I wanted rather fully
and noisily orchestrated. Well will you
believe, I heard that tutti and the noise of the
different instruments so distinctly whilst I was
writing it, that that I got a headache \ "

My singing lessons with Professor Goetze I
also greatly enjoyed, instinctively feeling that
the modest man was laying in me the solid
foundations of a vocal structure of great
simplicity, intended for duration rather than
show. Already in the early part of the follow-
ing year of 1868 I sang the part of "Hans
Sachs " in Wagner's Master singers, performed



24 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES in

for the first time in Leipsic by Carl Riedel, the
great Wagner enthusiast, whose Choral Society
was then justly celebrated. The work was
given on the concert platform, as the authorities
of the Municipal Theatre hesitated as yet to
produce it on the stage, after the rather doubt-
ful reception of the first performance of the
opera at the Court Theatre of the neighbouring
Dresden. The conductor there was then Julius
Rietz, an excellent musician of the old school,
and known for his ready and rather biting wit.

During the first reading rehearsal of the
Mastersingers, the so - called " Correctur -
Probe," i.e. rehearsal for the sake of correcting
eventual mistakes in the parts, the whole
orchestra from time to time would break into
bursts of laughter at the awful dissonances-
times have changed ! when suddenly Rietz
stopped the orchestra, saying, " Gentlemen,
this sounds so well there must be something
wrong in the parts ! "

That same year Mr. Rietz, who evidently
had heard of my singing of the part of " Hans
Sachs," invited me to Dresden to sing to him
and the intendant with a view to engaging me
for the opera. This time my dreams of a great
operatic career seemed to be getting nearer
to realisation than before ; but when, after
evidently having satisfied both these gentle-



in MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 25

men, I was given to understand that at first I
should not be allowed to sing any but small
parts, like the Herald in Lohengrin, I gratefully
declined the offer, little thinking that my
66 very onliest " appearance on the operatic
stage would be in that same Royal Opera House
in Dresden, more than forty years later, when,
in place of the suddenly indisposed Herr Perron,
I sang the part of " Girolamo " in my own
opera Nubia at a few hours' notice.

Another little excursion during my Leipsic
days I recall with pleasure. A dear friend of
mine, Eugen Franck by name, was at that time
living in Berlin, where somewhat against his
own inclination he prepared himself for the
calling of bookseller and publisher. At heart
he was, and remained all through his life, a
musician, being not only the possessor of a fine
and well -trained bass voice, but also an
excellent violin and viola player. Later in
life he settled in Dresden, where with some
other enthusiasts he founded the Mozart Society,
for which, to the end of his days, he worked
indefatigably and with the most gratifying and
beneficent results.

Well, it was in the winter of 1868 that Franck
invited me to come and pay him a little visit,
holding out to me, as a special inducement, the
pleasure of meeting a young Englishman who,



26 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES in

with his mother and two charming sisters, was
spending the year in Berlin for the purpose of
studying the piano under Carl Tausig. Need-
less to say I accepted with alacrity. The
meeting between the young Englishman and
me, at a supper-party arranged for the occasion
by our mutual friend, developed in the course
of the evening into something like an Olympic
contest. Evidently bent on doing credit to
his master, the young Englishman, a striking-
looking, handsome boy of sixteen, with finely-
cut features and very pleasant manners, played
wonderfully well, thus spurring me on to do
my best when my turn came. So we went on,
actually for hours, he playing and I singing,
to the great delight of our host, who, equally
interested in us both, confessed to being baffled
as to which of us in his opinion had the greater
talent, until, at the end of a most enjoyable
evening, he had to be satisfied with declaring
that both Frederic Co wen for that was the
boy's name and I had the chance of a brilliant
future before us : a future which, alas, at the
time I am writing, has turned into a past,
though, I am sure, one we neither of us two old
friends need be ashamed of.

From the fact that so soon after the com-
mencement of my studies in Leipsic I was
called upon to and did sing in public, one



in MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 27

might think I had been a most industrious,
exemplary student. Truth, I tear, compels
me regretfully to confess that far too many
precious hours of those two and a half years
in Leipsic were given over to play and pastime.

There was, for instance, a particularly great
attraction and fascination in a little room of
what was then the " Hotel de Prusse," the
original old inn at which Goethe put up when
he visited Leipsic for the first time in 1765.
The owner, a Mr. Louis Krafft, had partly
preserved the room in, partly restored it to,
the same state in which Goethe knew and
frequented it ; it was full of relics and memen-
toes of the poet, full, above all, of his spirit and
atmosphere. In that room a little company
of literary and artistic people would meet once
a week, in the evening ; among them Ludwig
Barnay and Emil Claar, young actors destined
to become renowned in later years as intendants
of great play-houses, the former remembered
by London audiences as the " Mark Antony "
of the celebrated Meiningen production of
Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.

In winter it was the steaming bowl of punch,
in summer the cooling " May-bowl," a delicious
cup of Moselle and " Waldmeister," an aromatic
herb found in the woods, which cheered the
table -round, and I used to wonder at and



28 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES in

admire the generosity of mine host of the
Goethe-Stube who presided and, I thought,
supplied the enlivening draught week after
week. I was therefore not a little amused
when, many years afterwards, I came to
Leipsic again as the soloist at one of the famous
Gewandhaus concerts, to which at the time of
those youthful symposiums we " Conservato-
risten " were only permitted to listen from the
elevation of the highest balcony. A card was
brought to me in my lodgings (I had succeeded
in getting the identical rooms I had occupied
when a student) " Louis Krafft." " How nice
of him," I thought, "to call on me in remem-
brance of the dear old days ! ?: We cordially
shook hands the familiar " thou " had changed
into the formal " you," he seemed a little em-
barrassed, congratulated me on my success in
the world, expressed his pride on seeing me as
a soloist on that illustrious platform, etc., etc. ;
but somehow or other I had a feeling of there
being something else he wanted to say but
shrank from saying. The conversation gradu-
ally flagged, and I began to wonder when and
how the visit would end, when, slowly and
hesitatingly, my old friend put his hand in his
breast pocket, producing from it a memento
of " Auld Lang Syne " ? Yes, indeed : in the
shape of a neatly written bill for sixteen bowls



in MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 29

of punch drained by the genial little company
of the Goethe- Stube on the sixteen occasions
when unbeknown to myself at the time the
turn of being host had been mine ! We had a
good laugh over it, and, after the concert, bowl
number seventeen.

Carnival was observed as a great festival in
Leipsic then. For nearly a week the town
used to be en fete. In a temporarily erected
tent circus performances were given entirely by
amateurs in aid of local charities ; masked
processions in the style of Lord Mayors' shows,
with jesters, scenes from plays, topical allusions ;
huge ornamented cars, drawn by six or more
richly caparisoned horses, traversed the streets,
and I remember one occasion when, riding in
a group from Schiller's Tell, dressed as one of
the huntsmen in Vogt Gessler's suite, I was on
horseback from ten in the morning till dusk.
I do hope lessons at the Conservatory were
suspended during that week !



IV



IT was in the summer of that same year that,
at a meeting of the " Allgemeine Tonkiinstler-
Verein " (General Tone- Artists' Union), held at
Altenburg in Saxony, I first met that wonder-
fully fascinating man Franz Liszt, in some of
whose works, produced on that occasion, I
had to sing the bass soli. Liszt was beyond
expectation kind to me, and only too readily
I accepted his most cordial invitation to visit
him at his home in Weimar after the meeting.
I settled for some weeks in that famous little
capital and daily went to the " Gartner ei," a
charming little garden residence placed at
Liszt's disposal by its owner, the reigning
Grand-Duke. There Liszt, who, by the way,
invariably greeted me by kissing me on both
cheeks, held a sort of court, the picturesque
old town fairly swarming with past, present
and would-be pupils and disciples of the master,
male and female, in velvet coats and huge neck-
ties, and with long flowing hair. It was, how-
ever, by no means pupils only that flocked

30



iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 31

to those world - famed Sunday morning " At
Homes " ; on one of those occasions, for
instance, it was my good luck not only to see
but also to hear in that historical music-room,
besides the illustrious host himself, no fewer
and no lesser stars than Anton Rubinstein,
Carl Tausig, and Hans von Biilow.

Here there were the four greatest pianists
of the time together, not in a vast concert hall,
but in a small private room, in their shirt-
sleeves, so to say, enabling us privileged fellow-
guests to compare, not from memory or
distance, but by immediate impression, within
the compass of an hour or so, the stupendous
power of a Rubinstein with the polished in-
fallibility of a Tausig, the irreproachable classi-
cism of a Biilow with the enchanting grace and
romanticism of a Liszt. They are gone, all
those four great ones, but the memory of that
Sunday morning is more real, more living to
me to - day than any reproduction of their
playing could be by the wonderfully ingenious
musical inventions of this electric age.

In the course of the matinee Liszt, pointing
to a parcel he had received from Wagner the
day before, and which was lying on the piano,
called out to me, " Voila, mon cher, une jolie
bagatelle pour vous," and, taking a stout
volume of music out from the brown paper,



32 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv

we for by that time I was surrounded by a
number of curious and eager faces discovered
it to be the just published score of Wagner's
Walkiire. " Allons done, mon cher," cried
Liszt, " chantons ' Les Adieux de Wotan,' '
and he sat down at the piano, I standing next
to him bending over the score, and we then
and there read that Grand Finale for the first
time, amidst frequent exclamations of wonder
and delight on the part of the audience, and
had to do parts of it over and over again.

For the Christmas holidays I went home
to Breslau, where Anton Rubinstein was
announced to give, in January 1869, a concert
with orchestra. Constantin Sander, the head
of the music firm of Leuckart who had their
premises on the ground floor of the house I was
born in, and where we still lived, was the local
manager of the concert, and, having always
taken a lively interest in my career, had, much
to my joy and pride, arranged that I should
associate with the great virtuoso by singing on
that occasion an aria with orchestra, and some
of Rubinstein's songs to the composer's accom-
paniment. On the morning of the day of the
concert we had the final rehearsal, after which
Rubinstein, Sander and I went for luncheon
to the finest restaurant of the town, " The
Golden Goose," of which, needless to say, I



iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 33

had up to then only seen the outside. We
seated ourselves at the large table in the centre
of the room, at the other end of which it was
already past the usual luncheon hour the
only other person in the room, a well-known
musical amateur, by profession an Army
surgeon, had nearly finished his mid-day meal.

Rubinstein, Sander, and I were just on the
point of commencing ours, when from across
the table the penetrating military voice of the
surgeon called out to Sander : "I say, Sander,
how did you like Tausig the other day ? "
(Tausig had given a pianoforte recital in
Breslau the week before.) Sander, by nature
a very shy and retiring little man, got quite red
in the face with embarrassment, and was still
composing an appropriate answer to the per-
plexing question, when the irrepressible surgeon
trumpeted to us : " Well, I can only tell you,
compared to Tausig, Rubinstein is nothing but
a thrashing flail ! 5:

Now in German a flail does not merely mean
the agricultural implement, but is figuratively
used to indicate a particularly rude, uncouth,
ill-mannered person.

An awful silence followed. Sander's and
my spoons, just raised to our lips, nearly
dropped into the soup, and for a moment we
did not quite know what would happen next.



34 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv

The unfortunate Army surgeon, evidently
becoming aware of something being wrong,
clapped his monocle in his eye and, surveying
our party, recognised the lion-head of the
smiling Rubinstein, who, shaking his mighty
mane, bade us pay no attention to the in-
cident. " A public man," he said, " must not
mind such things. To tell you the truth, they
rather amuse me." The surgeon, however,
seemed anything but amused ; he got up,
hurriedly paid his bill, and left by the back door
so as not to pass us.

The concert in the evening was a tremendous
success. Rubinstein received a perfect ovation
at the end of his D Minor Concerto, and when,
that night, I was lying awake in bed and
dreaming for a long time before finding sleep,
I came to the conclusion that there was not a
bad name in the world I should mind being
called as long as I could play as well and be as
famous as Rubinstein.

In the autumn of 1870 I went to Berlin to
continue my studies for a time at the Royal
High School for Music, of which Joseph Joachim
was the head, and where I continued my vocal
studies under Adolph Schulze. Knowing that
my father could but ill afford the continuance
of my support beyond the paying of the fees
for my tuition, I was determined to stand on



iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 35

my own feet as soon as ever I could. I gave
pianoforte lessons at a shilling an hour, and,
for more than a year, dined at an underground
restaurant " Unter den Linden " for sixpence a
meal, together with dear Robert Hausmann,
the afterwards famous 'cellist of the Joachim
Quartet, and a young Virginian sculptor, Moie
Ezechiel, later living in Rome, who introduced
me to that stirring war- tune " Dixie," which
has never lost the fascination it then exerted
on me.

Frequently I was glad even to have,
especially at the end of the month, enough to
buy a couple of halfpenny buns for my mid-day
meal. For my supper, which I shared with
my good old friend " Severe," I generally
resorted to the loaf of rye-bread I always kept
going in my " pantry " the lower shelf of a
small hanging bookcase supplementing the
repast occasionally with a few pennyworths of
sausage or cold cooked meats, the quantity of
which varied according to the fluctuating state
of my purse.

" Severe " was my dog a French poodle
which some years before I had begged from
the brother of an old Leipsic friend who had no
use for the poor animal. I will not belittle
Severe's memory by referring to him as " a "
French poodle. He was the most sagacious,



36 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv

amusing, faithful dog any nationality might
have been proud of. One no, two illustra-
tions of his exceeding cleverness are, I think,
worth recording, if only for the benefit of those
among my readers who may be as fond of dogs
as I was of Severe.

That I had some difficulty in finding rooms
or rather, a room where I might be allowed
to keep the dog, goes without saying. At last
a kind-hearted woman agreed to take me in,
not however without my faithfully promising
her never to permit the dog to lie on the
precious sofa, as rickety an old horsehair-
covered excuse for the comfortable piece of
furniture rejoicing in that name as ever you
saw. But it is no easy matter to fight the
instincts of a dog, and Severe's certainly
attracted him to the seat of the couch rather
than the hard floor beneath it, where at last,
with the assistance of a very innocent horse-
whip, I had succeeded in making him spend
the night. It was a source of no small satisfac-
tion to me to see him, after coming to my
bedside to be said " good-night " to, obediently
creep under the sofa and, the next morning,
meekly emerge from there when called by me.
I hardly know why, but suddenly one day
the awful suspicion arose in my mind : What
if the dog is deceiving me ? So that evening,



iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 37

before going to bed, I placed on the seat of the
couch little bits of paper in a regular pattern,
the slightest interference with which would
at once be noticeable. I confess I felt rather
mean. Severe that night went through the
routine afore-mentioned in an irreproachable
manner, and next morning as usual crawled to
me from underneath the sofa. But looking on
that, lo and behold! the little bits of paper
were scattered all over the place. I jumped
out of bed, felt the seat of the couch it was
still warm : Severe had been comfortably
lying on it all night until he thought, seeing the
light stealing into the room, it was time for
master to wake, when he crept to the floor
beneath, there to await his call ! Of course I
had to be angry, very angry, and after a few
caressing strokes of the whip, considered it the
best way of curing him to leave the whip, of
which he stood in mortal fear, permanently on
the seat, being sure he would not willingly go
anywhere near it. And he actually was cured.
But now comes cleverness number two, which
I believe even outstrips what I have just told.
I came home one afternoon as usual with
the dog's and my supper nicely wrapped up in
paper, placed the parcel on the table, and went
to fetch a plate and a knife and fork from the
landlady. Very likely the loquacious dame



38 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv

had kept me a little longer than Severe thought
desirable ; anyhow, when I returned I noticed
the dog, who only a few minutes before had
been most affectionately welcoming me, abjectly
cowering in a corner, his head bent down, and
his eyes looking up at me with a wonder-
fully appealing expression. " What's up ? " I
thought, and went to the table to unpack the
parcel Severe had saved me that trouble : it
was open and its savoury contents by that
time safely stowed away in his " little inside."
I never could be really angry with the dog,
but thought it my duty to punish him this
time. So I went to the sofa to get the whip-
it was gone. That is to say, not very far ; it
was lying on the floor some way between the
sofa and Severe's hiding-place. Incredible as
it may seem, the dog, immediately after the
accomplishment of his crime, must have become
conscious of the severity of it, and his instinct
prompted him to remove the implement of
punishment ! Whether or not I carried out
my cruel design I leave to the imagination of
my readers.

Soon the outlook brightened. To the grati-
fication of my teacher no less than to my own,
I now commenced to be engaged for oratorio
and concerts, not only in Berlin and the



iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 39

provinces, but also outside of Germany, in
Belgium, Holland, Switzerland, Russia. To
picturesque, musical, aristocratic Holland and
its warm-hearted people, among whom in
the course of the years I was to find some
of the best and truest friends of my life, I
felt myself particularly attracted ; a feeling
ripening before long into a deep, affectionate
attachment.

In Berlin, where I had settled for the time
being, many musical homes were opened to me,
like Madame Clara Schumann's, the Simrocks',
the Joachims'. In the latter house as well as
in that of the Simrocks I was soon a frequent
guest, participating in the many musical gather-
ings happening there, and if, needless to say,
I grew more and more gratefully conscious of
the privilege of a closer acquaintance with so
great a musician as Joachim, I confess I hardly
to any lesser degree appreciated the wonderful
art of his wife. Madame Joachim's was a
perfect vocal technique, joined to the gift of a
beautiful sonorous contralto voice, great depth
of feeling, a keen intellect, a subtle sense of
humour, and fine musical perception. These
forces she put into the service of an exalted
ideal of her art, with the result that there was
neither lack nor exuberance, but a sort of
Grecian serenity, a faultless balance of values,



40 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv

so to speak, with just enough of her own
personality in everything she did, to render
her singing interesting and gratifying beyond
the intrinsic merit of the works she interpreted.
Many are the singers who please the thousands,
but only a very small number satisfy the few
as Amalie Joachim did. Like all true artists
she was equally good in the simplest song as
when rendering a great dramatic part like,
for instance, that of the heroine in Gluck's
Iphigenia in Tauris, a performance of which,
at the Berlin Sing-Akademie in 1871, was the
first occasion on which I had the honour and
privilege of singing with her in public.

Although she had slightly to transpose the
part to quite suit her range of voice, her singing
of it was a beautiful revelation of dramatic
power and restraint, a splendid example of
plastic modelling in expression.

Altogether the performance, under Professor
Rudorff s conductorship, offered many interest-
ing points, as for instance the singing of the
part of Pylades I sang Orestes, in German
" Orest " by Professor Mantius, an excellent
tenor of the old school, whose impersonation of
that touching prototype of a sacrificing friend
was marked by great feeling and a wonderful
control of what there was left of a once magnifi-
cent voice. He was no less than forty-four



iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 41

years my senior, a fact which, in the following
morning's account of the performance, had
elicited from a witty critic the comment,
" Henschel Orest, Mantius Beaux restes."

Among the audience of most of the concerts
in any way connected with the Joachims,
could be seen Madame Joachim's much older
friend, Clara Schumann, for whom Brahms
until the end of his life cherished a touching,
almost filial, love and devotion. She was
indeed one of the gentlest, most lovable of
women. It was a delight to listen to her as,
in her charming melodious voice, from which
a certain fascinating Saxon accent was hardly
ever absent, she would revive memories of the
past. Her art she took very much in earnest,
as a high priestess would her religion, and it
will surprise many of the younger people of
to-day to give only one illustration to hear
that whenever Madame Schumann and I, as
was frequently the case, were the soloists at
the same concert and she accompanied me in
her husband's songs, we would invariably have
a rehearsal of the songs some time before the
concert, even though perhaps we had done the
same songs only a week before, somewhere else.

I remember a dinner once at Madame
Schumann's in Berlin, when, to the wonder and
amid frequent exclamations of awe or, some-



42 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv

times, good-natured disapproval on the part of
the hostess, Anton Rubinstein entertained us
with a recital of his experiences in the United
States, whence he had just returned after a tour
of two hundred and fifteen concerts in eight
months and there were no Sunday concerts
then and where once, somewhere out in the
wild, woolly West, a man, about an hour before
the concert, had thrust his head into Rubinstein's
room with the words, " Don't you think, boss,
it's about time to have your face blacked ? "

i4 No, you didn't really ! " gasped poor,
bewildered Madame Schumann.

From Berlin I was now almost continually
making professional journeys which often kept
me " on the road," as they say, for weeks at
a time. Musical agencies had only just come
into existence, and accepting all engagements
as they were offered to me directly, I had to
spend more time in railway carriages than
would have been the case had an experienced
manager, as is now done, arranged a " tournee "
for me with a view to greater comfort and less
wear and tear. In the year 1873 I sang in no
less than forty-seven different places on the
Continent, meeting a good many eminent people,
and also making acquaintances which were
destined to develop into lifelong friendships.
At Halle, for instance, the birthplace of Handel,



iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 43

the young lady who, in that year, sang the
contralto part in the Messiah with myself in
the bass part, was Auguste Redeker, the lovely
singer who a few years later enchanted all
London with her beautiful voice and charming
presence, and afterwards became the wife of
Dr., now Sir, Felix Semon.



IN the year 1874 I reached a rather important
point in my career. I got my first engagement
for one of the famous Nether-Rhenish Music
Festivals, then the great musical events of the
year in Germany, or, I might say, in the world,
for to those festivals people from all over the
world would flock in great numbers.

Smaller places, with their limited means,
musical and financial, being then unable to
produce great choral and orchestral works in
an anything like adequate manner, the privilege
of such artistic achievements was reserved to
the towns of Cologne, Diisseldorf, and Aix-la-
Chapelle. Throughout the Rhine district, then
considered to be the most musical part of
Germany, the local choral and orchestral
societies joined their forces to those of Cologne,
Diisseldorf, or Aix-la-Chapelle, as the case might
be, to hold a feast of music every year in one
of these three towns in rotation during the
Whitsun holidays.

In 1874 the turn was Cologne's, and with no

44



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 45

little pride and hardly less anxiety I saw my
name announced for the first time in a list of
soloists comprising some of the most renowned of
the day. But above all, Brahms was to be there.

For weeks beforehand my mind was occupied
with the thought of seeing face to face the
great composer whose name was then on every
musician's lips as that of the man whose genius
Robert Schumann had publicly proclaimed in the
glowing language of an inspired prophet. And
I well remember my embarrassment, and the
sensation it gave me, when at last I was permitted
to shake hands with him after the rehearsal
of Handel's Samson, in which oratorio I had
been engaged to sing the part of " Harapha."
A few kind and encouraging words soon put
me at my ease, and I could give myself up to
scrutinising Brahms' personal appearance.

He was broad-chested, of somewhat short
stature, with a tendency to stoutness. His
face was then clean shaven, revealing a rather
thick, genial underlip ; the healthy and ruddy
colour of his skin indicated a love of nature
and a habit of being in the open air in all kinds
of weather ; his thick straight hair of brownish
colour came nearly down to his shoulders. His
clothes and boots were not exactly of the latest
pattern, nor did they fit particularly well, but
his linen was spotless.



46 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

What, however, struck me most was the
kindliness of his eyes. They were of a light
blue ; wonderfully keen and bright, with now
and then a roguish twinkle in them, and yet at
times of almost childlike tenderness. Soon I
was to find out that that roguish twinkle in his
eyes corresponded to a quality in his nature
which would perhaps be best described as good-
natured sarcasm. A few illustrations will
explain what I mean. A rather celebrated
composer had asked Brahms to be allowed to
play to him from the MS. his latest composition,
a violin concerto. Brahms consented to hear
it and seated himself near the piano. Mr.
- played his work with great enthusiasm
and force, the perspiration it was a very
warm day streaming down his face.

When he had finished, Brahms got up,
approached the piano, took a sheet of the
manuscript between his thumb and middle
finger and, rubbing it between them, exclaimed,
" I say, where do you buy your music paper ?
First rate ! "

In the evening of the day of our first meeting
I found myself sitting with Brahms in a Kneipe
one of those cosy restaurants, redolent of
the mixed perfumes of beer, wine, tobacco,
coffee, and food, so dear to Germans in general,
and to German artists in particular in the



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 47

company of four or five prominent composers
of the day, who had come from their different
places of abode to attend the festival.

The musical proceedings of the day had been
the chief topic of conversation (on one of the
programmes there had figured some new songs
of mine), when suddenly one of the " Herren
Kapellmeister," pointing toward me, exclaimed,
" Now just look at that lucky fellow Henschel !
He can both sing and compose, and we "
describing with his hand a circle which included
Brahms " we can compose only."

" And not even that " Brahms instantly
added, his countenance bearing the expression
of the most perfect innocence.

He was very fond of sitting with good friends
over his beer or wine or his beloved " Kaffee "
with the accent, after Viennese fashion, on
the last syllable in the Kneipe till the small
hours of the morning. After the Samson per-
formance our party did not break up until half-
past two in the morning. To sit late at night
in a stuffy room full of tobacco smoke, for hours
at a stretch, and that between two public
appearances, is not precisely a proceeding I
could conscientiously recommend a young
singer to imitate ; but on that occasion nothing
would have induced me to leave the room
before Brahms, so fascinated was I by his



48 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

personality, so jealous of every minute of his

company.

Moreover, there were, besides Brahms, other
interesting and renowned men sitting around
that social table, like splendid old Gevaert, the
Director of the Brussels Conservatory of
Music, whose fine Flemish face looked as if cut
out of Rembrandt's " Syndics " ; Kufferath,
another Brussels musician of fame; the jovial
Ferdinand Hiller of Cologne, Joseph Joachim,
Carl Reinthaler of Bremen, Julius Otto Grimm
of Miinster, Wasielewsky of Bonn, the bio-
grapher of Schumann. I hope I was duly
appreciative of the privilege of being in the
company of such men.

Altogether I had every reason to be satisfied
with my first experience at one of those big
music festivals, which augured well for the
future, and it was a happy summer I spent
that year, partly with my people and friends
in the Thuringian woods, partly in the Austrian
alps, with the Joachims, who, in the happy
temporary possession of a charming little villa
in Alt-Aussee in Styria, had suggested to me
the taking of rooms somewhere near them, so
that we could make excursions together, and
now and then some music as well.

I do not know which I enjoyed more : a
day's wanderings with the great musician, often



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 49

starting at five o'clock in the morning, he was
an excellent walker roaming on the tops of
the hills surrounding the picturesque village,
or accompanying on the piano, his playing
of his own Hungarian Concerto and those of
Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Spohr, and sonatas by
Locatelli, Tartini, Handel he practised every
day for some time or singing with Frau
Joachim songs and duets for hours at a time.
Little did I then think that what appeared to
me and everybody an ideal union between
two fine artists would, only a few years later,
end in cruel estrangement and final separation.
Of Joachim's exceeding good-naturedness
I use the adjective advisedly Brahms, in later
years, told me a story which at the same time
rather interestingly illustrates a phase in the
life, toward the middle of last century, at the
Court of Hanover, where Joachim, from 1853
to 1866, occupied the post of Concert-Director
and Solo -Violinist to the King. Among his
duties as such was also that of engaging the
artists for and arranging the programmes of
the musical soirees which at regular intervals
took place at the Royal Castle. King George
was one of the last of those monarchs who
believed in the " right divine of Kings " to such
an extent that, for instance, if he would say a

thing was red though it really was green, it

E



50 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

was red. Blind as he was, he is known to have,
at exhibitions, admired pictures before which
he had been led by his attendant, pointing
out details of which he had been informed
beforehand, and trying to make people believe
he could see.

For one of those musical evenings at the
Castle, Joachim's choice of an assisting artist
had fallen on Moritz Hauptmann, 1 who was
asked to come over from Leipsic and play with
him some of his chamber -music. On the
morning of the day of the concert the King
sent for Joachim, who, as usual, had to prepare
His Majesty for the events of the evening by
telling him who was coming and what the
programme was to be. On being informed
of Hauptmann's participation in that night's
musical proceedings, the King asked who
that gentleman was, having never heard of
him before. Joachim then spoke with great
warmth of Hauptmann's compositions, making
special mention of a Sonata in G, with a particu-
larly charming Adagio which he proposed
playing with the composer.

Imagine Joachim's feelings when in the
evening, as he presented Hauptmann to the
King, he had to hear His Majesty say to the

1 Hauptmann was a composer, rather dry and academical, and
up to his death, in 1868, cantor of the church of St. Thomas in
Leipsic.



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 51

delighted composer : " Ah, my dear Mr.
Hauptmann, I am so glad to make your
personal acquaintance. ... I have always
been a great admirer of your excellent com-
positions. . . . There is especially a Sonata . . .
I think it is in G ... which I am particularly
devoted to. ... Such a lovely Adagio . . .
Joachim must always play it twice to me;
isn't that so, Joachim ? " Of course, poor
Joachim not only had to bow his assent, for
the King could not have seen that, but audibly
to express it ! That night he came back to
Brahms, who happened to be his guest for a
few days, hot with rage and indignation, and
determined to make an end to a position which
could subject him to such degrading indignities.
The following morning he actually sent his
resignation to the King, as he had done so
Brahms told me two or three times before, after
similar experiences, but once more His Majesty,
by saying charming things to him, appeased
his anger and made him retract his decision.

Thuringian Woods and Austrian Alps had
well prepared me physically for the strenuous
winter season that lay before me, and which
rather auspiciously commenced in October with
a soiree by Joachim, Heinrich Barth, then
Professor of the Piano at the Royal Hochschule,
and myself, at the New Palace in Potsdam, the



52 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

residence of the Crown Prince, afterwards the
Emperor Frederick.

To come into personal contact with that
popular favourite " Our Fritz," one of the
most perfect specimens of manhood imagin-
able, and his Consort, the first member of the
English Royal family it had been my good
fortune to meet, was a matter of no small
delight to me. I was particularly impressed
by the simple, affable way in which the Royal
hosts mingled with their guests, and the Crown
Prince's jovial manner emboldened me, after
the supper which followed the concert, to
approach him on the subject of a mission I had
from an old friend in Hamburg, that proud
old free city which after the Franco-Prussian
War had become part of the German Empire.

The lady, an elderly spinster, was an en-
thusiastic admirer of the old Emperor William,
and " dying " to knit a dozen woollen stockings
for His Majesty, if she could get permission
and a sample stocking to ensure their being
of the right size. With the boldness of youth
I submitted the lady's desire to the Crown
Prince, who laughingly promised to have the
matter attended to ; and within the week, to
my joy no less than that of the patriotic lady
of Hamburg, a parcel arrived for me from the
New Palace, containing the coveted treasure



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 53

an old pair of Emperor William's stockings,
long white cotton stockings, marked with a
red " W" surmounted by the Royal Crown,
and touching and incredible darned in three
places ! I have got that pair of stockings now,
and perhaps some day, in a glass case at some
German museum, it may yet serve to turn
a degenerate people back to the simple life !

An opportunity of thanking His Royal
Highness personally for his kindness presented
itself soon, for the Emperor had commanded a
morning performance of Handel's Hercules,
under Joachim, to take place at the White Hall
of the Royal Castle in Berlin, with the Chorus
of the Royal High School of Music, which was
still in its early youth then, and in which the
Emperor took a great personal interest. The
performance, in which Mme. Joachim took the
part of Dejanira and I that of her ill-fated lord,
was a very interesting occasion, the audience
consisting only of the Emperor, the Crown
Prince and Princess, and some generals and
Court officials with their wives. The Emperor
seemed much pleased, and at the end had all
the soloists presented to him. This was the
only time I personally met that aged monarch,
and the kind and sweet expression in the dear
old fatherly face made a deep impression on me.

During Hercules' rather pompous Aria :



54 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

Mein Name wird in alien Zeiten
Hell im Glanz der Ehre stelin

(My name will stand for all times, shining
Lustrous bright in honour's glow)

I thought I noticed a merry smile on the Crown
Prince's face, and after the performance he said
to me : " You know, when you sang c in alien
Zeiten ' (for all times), I kept hearing ' in alien
Zeitungen'" (in all the newspapers!) He
seemed always ready for a good joke.

In the early spring of the following year
(1875) I met Brahms again. Some letters had
passed between us, relating to my singing for
the Society of the Friends of Music at Vienna,
of whose concerts Brahms, at that time, was
the conductor. I had been engaged to sing
the part of Christ in Bach's Passion according
to St. Matthew, and that of Odysseus in Max
Bruch's secular oratorio of that name ; and it
may be imagined how great an inspiration it
was for a young musician like myself to sing
under the direction of Brahms and to be in
daily and intimate intercourse with him, in
anticipation of which privilege I had made
arrangements for a prolonged stay in the
Austrian capital. We went for a walk together
every day, mostly in the Prater, the favourite
out-of-door resort of the Viennese, and it
seemed a matter of no small gratification to



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 55

Brahms to find himself recognized and de-
ferentially greeted wherever we happened to
drop in for an occasional rest.

The numerous public gardens where Gipsy
bands played, especially attracted us, and it
was a delight to notice the increased spirit
those brown sons of the Puszta put into their
music in the presence of the master who had
done so much toward opening up to their
beloved tunes a wider sphere of popularity.

The first of the two concerts mentioned
above went off beautifully. Brahms had
trained the Chorus with infinite care and con-
ducted with great earnestness.

It was a rare delight to watch the enthusiasm
and, at the same time, the reverence and
dignity he brought to bear on the performance
of Bach's masterwork. Johann Sebastian was
one of his gods, and I remember one day in his
rooms when, seeing me notice that master's
Well -tempered Klavier open on the piano,
he said to me : " With this I rinse my mouth
every morning."

The time between the performances of Bach's
Passion and Bruch's Odysseus was filled up by
my first visit to Russia, whither I had been
invited to sing Handel's Messiah, in German,
under the conductorship of Davidoff, the great
violoncello-player, who was then Director of



56 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

the Imperial Conservatory of Music. Needless
to say, I undertook the long journey, via
Warsaw, with no little expectation ; and the
utterly different way of life there in nearly all
of its aspects did indeed not disappoint, though
it thoroughly bewildered me. I do not know
what I should have done had I not been
met at Petrograd Station by old Professor
Homilius, one of the directors of the " Sing-
Akademie," at whose concert I was to make
my first appearance. In the vast place out-
side the station, hundreds of tiny little narrow
open cabs, " isvostchiks," were standing abreast
in long rows in the snow, their drivers
picturesque in high boots and long dark blue
caftans, under which, to judge from the
portliness of their figures, and their ample
waists, girded by broad scarlet scarfs, they
seemed to have half-a-dozen other garments.
They all were shouting at the top of their
voices to attract attention to the particular
beauty and swiftness of their beasts, and
soliciting patronage. There is or at any
rate was then no regular tariff for the
use of these vehicles. You have to make a
bargain each time, but it is after having secured
your conveyance, and being more or less com-
fortably ensconced in the fur- coverings, that
your real difficulties commence. Unless you



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 57

wish to be driven to one of the public buildings,
or to a house in one of the most famous
thoroughfares, the ignorant driver depends
entirely on your giving him the directions,
which you are supposed to shout to him at
every doubtful turning, so that I cannot see how
any one without a knowledge of at least the
two words naprava (right), or nalyeva (left),
and a partial familiarity with the map of the
town, can ever hope to get to his destination.

Failure, however, to reach it would certainly
not be the fault of the horses, which as a rule
are very swift. I was told by my cicerone
that the rapid speed at which Russians delight
to travel in their carriages reduces the life of
their horses to about one-fourth of its natural
duration. There is, for instance, a rich banker,
he told me, who saves himself the trouble of
giving his coachmen notice by engaging them
invariably with the understanding that the
moment they allow another carriage to pass
his they must consider themselves dismissed !

There is something barbaric about this, as
altogether about the life of a wealthy Russian
at home. Vast houses, often more like palaces ;
vast halls pervaded by a sweet scent as of
incense ; wide, richly- carpeted staircases ; huge
porcelain stoves giving out a most gratifying
warmth; gorgeously uniformed major-domos



58 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

with sticks like those of a drum-major ; an army
of liveried servants ; gigantic vases in malachite,
lapis lazuli, and bronze ; marble statuary I
was quite staggered by all this display of
wealth, comfort, ease, and luxury, and, indeed,
throughout my visit I seemed to be living in a
sort of dreamland, it was all so strange.

The only time in my life when I ate a dinner
off solid gold plate was at the house of General
Count Paul Schuvaloff, who then occupied a
high position at the Imperial Court a most
charming man and an excellent musician.
One does not often see a general in his uniform
play the 'cello, as Count Schuvaloff frequently
did during my visits at his house ; whilst
another uniformed officer, Lieut. -Colonel Cesar
Cui, a composer of great merit, whose works
were at that time very popular in concert-room
and opera house, accompanied him on the
piano.

The performance of the Messiah went off
very well. I was in capital form and rather
strange to our ideas of an oratorio audience's
attitude had to repeat the air " Why do the
Nations." Rubinstein, Leschetitsky, Mme.
Essipoff, Louis Brassin, Leopold Auer, Helmy
Raab, the charming Prima Donna of the
Imperial Opera all friends and colleagues of
Davidoff, who conducted were present, and



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 59

we all met again on the following night at
Leschetitsky's house, Mme. Essipoff receiving
the company. These weekly receptions in the
salons of the famous pianist and teacher were
among the fashionable events of the season.

Imperial Highnesses, ambassadors, generals,
University professors loved to mix in Bohemian
fashion with long-haired virtuosos and operatic
favourites, and sometimes at two o'clock in the
morning Rubinstein, Auer, and Davidoff a
wonderful trio would sit down to play, or
Leschetitsky and Essipoff delight their hearers
with a duet for two pianos. To drive home
in an open "isvostchik " at four or five o'clock
in the morning was by no means an unusual
occurrence. Somehow or other the life in
Russia had a peculiar fascination for me, and
I always looked forward to my visits there,
which, though not unfrequent during the
following ten years, were never of too long
duration ; and that, considering the delight
Russians take in turning night into day, was a
good thing.

Nicolai Rubinstein, also a pianist and hardly
inferior as a virtuoso to his more famous elder
brother Anton, by some even preferred to him
on the point of mere technique, which, indeed,
was stupendous, held at that time the position
of Director of the Moscow Conservatoire of



60 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

Music. And it was in Moscow that I first met
Tschaikovsky, a most amiable, kind, gentle,
modest man, with just that touch of melancholy
in his composition which to me seems to be a
characteristic of the Russian. I spent a week
in Moscow, singing, among other things, in
Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, in Russian, a
language which in my opinion, as regards
melodiousness, comes immediately after the
Italian. Nicolai Rubinstein conducted an
excellent performance, and afterwards he,
Tschaikovsky, and I had supper at the famous
restaurant known as the " Eremitage." There
we sat until the small hours of the morning,
talking mostly about music. Brahms' German
Requiem had only just been published, and,
much to my astonishment and distress, both
Rubinstein and Tschaikovsky expressed in very
strong terms their resentment of the title
"German Requiem," maintaining that it im-
plied a certain arrogance on the part of the
composer as hinting at the superiority of German
over other music. I argued that the word
" Requiem " as applied to a work of music,
generally meant a setting of the old accepted
Latin words of the Mass for the Dead. Brahms
in calling his work "A German Requiem" merely
wanted to make it clear, already on the title-
page, that his work was not a Mass, but set to



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 61

German words taken from different parts of
the Bible ; that, if those words were translated
into, say, Swedish or French or Russian, it
would become a Swedish, French, or Russian
Requiem ; that nothing could have been
further from Brahms' intention than a slight
on the music of other nations. But I am
afraid when we parted early in the morning
the two were still far from convinced.

During my subsequent visits to Petrograd I
chiefly gave recitals of songs, many of them by
Russian composers, which I sang in the original.
I learned the meaning of every word of a
song, and a very nice young lawyer, Ivan
Ivanovitch, coached me in the pronunciation,
which, owing not unlikely to the portion of
Polish blood in my veins, came comparatively
easy to me. I had been told of the generous
enthusiasm of Petrograd audiences, and how
it often materializes in the shape of a valuable
present, so that, for instance, it is not at all
unusual for officers of a " crack " regiment
to club together and throw to a foreign prima
donna, singing at the opera house as a guest,
and who may have been fortunate enough to
captivate their ears and hearts, a diamond
bracelet or some other precious piece of
jewellery, hidden in a bouquet of flowers, across
the footlights.



62 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

And sure enough, when I returned to
Germany after my second visit, my valise
was considerably the heavier for containing
several silver and gold cigarette-cases and
match-boxes, a silver tankard, a silver bowl,
a scarfpin, and other presents given to me by
people I hardly knew.

The Russians' love of music is very great
and their way of showing their appreciation
sometimes very touching. I shall never forget
a charming incident after the last recital of
my second season in Petrograd.

That young lawyer, Ivan Ivanovitch, whom
I frequently met at the Davidoffs and other
houses, was an enthusiastic lover of music,
especially vocal, and himself a very acceptable
amateur tenor. Unfortunately he spoke neither
French nor German nor Italian, the only
German word he knew being, by some chance,
the word " gegeniiber " (vis-d-vis) ; and I
being unable to converse in his tongue, we
could only communicate I was very fond of
him by facial expression or through a friendly
interpreter. After the recital, at the end of
which I had to sing half-a-dozen more songs
than were on the programme, a great number
of people crowded into the artists' room,
shaking hands, congratulating me, and I was
to leave the following morning wishing me



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 63

bon voyage. Among them was my friend Ivan
Ivanovitch. Looking at me beseechingly, and
evidently greatly distressed at being unable
to talk to me, a tear running down his cheek,
he took my hand into both of his, pressed it
most earnestly and affectionately until at last,
choked with emotion and addressing me by
my name in Russian, he burst out into " Youri
Yakovlevitch," and then the single word,
" geggeniiber ! ! " (as he pronounced it).

Among my newly-acquired Russian friends
I was particularly lucky in counting one, a
physician, whose brother-in-law held the post
of Master of the Hunt to the Czar ; for through
this gentleman's influence I was allowed the
rare privilege of visiting the Imperial kennels
at Gatchina, one of His Majesty's residences,
not far from Petrograd. My friend himself
was the fortunate owner of a country place
in that neighbourhood, and thither he had
promised to take me one day, to spend a few
hours, in gratification of my wish to see some-
thing of the country and Russian peasant life.
It was a perfect winter's day, and the scene
on alighting at the little station lovely beyond
description. In contrast to the streets of the
city, in the dirty-grey surface of which the
heavy and constant traffic makes it almost



64 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

impossible to recognize so pure and beautiful
a thing as snow, here the landscape was a
glorious symphony in whites, dark-greens, and
browns. The wide semicircle skirting a grove
of fine fir trees at 'the back of the station was
covered with virgin snow glittering in the bright
sunshine, and there, against this exquisite
background, waiting for us and looking like a
new toy magnified, stood a beautiful " troika "
from the Czar's establishment.

Even with an utter ignorance of the Russian
language it will not be difficult to guess that the
word " troika " has something to do with the
number three. This most picturesque equipage
derives its name from the three horses which
are in use with the vehicle, not so much because
of its weight, which indeed is so slight that an
average boy in the shafts could pull the thing
with ease, but merely for greater speed, a
maximum of which is secured by the peculiar
way in which the horses are hitched and
harnessed, one in the shafts, the two bars of
which, just about in the middle of their length,
are connected by a high arch widening at the
top, the two others outside, with their heads
slightly forced downwards and turned, the near
horse's to the left, the off horse's to the right,
with the result that whilst the middle horse
trots, or rather paces for nearly all Russian



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 65

carriage-horses move the fore- and hind-legs of
the same side in the same direction the two
outside ones, except when walking, must gallop,
poor things. This may appear just a little
cruel, but I really think the horses being broken
in in that way when very young, are accustomed
to it from the first, and, to judge from their
behaviour at full speed, seem to rather like it.
Moreover, the tightness is of course relaxed
when they are standing for any length of time.
The three dapple-greys magnificent crea-
tures, sleek-coated, long-tailed and long-necked
on seeing us approach and greet their
master, who in a very becoming dark-green
uniform stood by them, turned their fine heads
toward us I do so like the absence of blinkers
on Russian horses and by stamping the
ground and champing their bits, which caused
the little silver bells hanging from the centre
of the arch over the shafts to make short,
harmonious little sounds, commenced to show
their impatience to be off. This we were now
without delay, and no one who has not sped
at the rate of about three minutes a mile over
frozen, snow-covered ground in a small sleigh
drawn by three big horses through Russian
plains on a bright, sunny day, can realize the
tremendous exhilaration of it. After a little

under an hour's drive a never-to-be-forgotten

F



66 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

experience we reached the little village of
which my friend's house was, so to speak,
" The Hall." Before the thatched hut of an
old retainer we stopped. He had been notified
of our intention to partake of luncheon there,
and now stepped out of the door, a splendid
fellow of about thirty-five. He was in holiday
attire and, most deferentially greeting us,
though with the dignity of a nobleman, bade
us welcome in words beautifully chosen and
even poetical which my friend translated to
me, adding that the Russian language hardly
knows such a thing as dialect, and that this
man's Russian was as good as his own. On
entering the cottage we found in the large,
warm, cosy room the wife and two children,
evidently freshly dressed for the occasion and
looking exceedingly charming in the picturesque
national costume. Happy to see my friend
whom they seemed to adore, I afterwards
learned he had as their friend and physician
been ever kind and helpful to them, they
reverently kissed his hands ; whilst the patri-
archal old grandfather, who had risen from his
place by the hearth, a fine tall man, his white,
straight hair coming down to his shoulders and
his grey beard flowing in long curls almost to
the belt of his gaberdine, fell flat on the ground
before my friend, kissing the hem of his fur coat.



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 67

I had never seen anything like this before,
and was greatly impressed by the unwonted
scene, as indeed by all that followed. Whilst
my friend talked with the men and the children,
and I had a good look round, the housewife
began laying the table, distributing on the
cloth, snow-white, with red embroidered edges,
the plates and napkins, knives, forks, spoons,
tumblers, salt-cellars, indeed every requisite
of a perfectly served meal. I could not detect
anything soiled or broken. The older of the
children, a handsome maiden of about fourteen,
brought a large earthen jug with " kwast," a sort
of home-brewed, very palatable light beer, and
after we had sat down, the husband beckoned
again in a most dignified manner to his wife
to bring in the food. First came, in a steaming
bowl, the soup, called " borsht," made of beet-
root and cream, into which you put a spoonful
of mashed potatoes, which is handed round
separately, an excellent concoction; and now
followed the piece de resistance my friend
had already prepared me for these national
delicacies on a huge platter : a large, oblong
cake of breadstuff, nice and brown on the out-
side, and containing a big fish baked whole in it
with spices and kale which proved, as the soup
had before, a most savoury dish. The sweet,
too, which ended the sumptuous and highly



68 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

appreciated repast, was a Russian speciality.
My friend had evidently wished to let me
experience a true Russian day, and certainly
succeeded even beyond his own designs, for,
as chance would have it, soon after our meal,
it happening to be the name-day of some local
saint, a priest appeared on his round through
the village to bless the ikons, of which there is
found at least one in every house, with a lamp,
burning vegetable oil, perpetually alight before
it. After the benediction had been pronounced,
our host poured into a tumbler a quantity of
raw vodka, one -fiftieth part of which would
have sent me reeling. Imagine my astonish-
ment on seeing the pope draining it at one fell
swoop without turning a hair. Of course I
thought of the number of huts still remaining
to be visited by the godly man, and wondered
who, after the last imbibition, would escort
this six -foot -two and corresponding girth
home, and how many people it would require ;
but, will you believe it, an hour later, when our
" troika " was carrying us back to Gatchina, we
met that self-same man coming out of one of
the huts, erect and lusty, walking as straight as
an arrow, and apparently not a whit the worse
for his many blessings. A kitten may remind
one of a lion, and years afterwards, in the
Scottish Highlands, this wonderful performance



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 69

was recalled to my mind, the scene being the
drawing-room of the Manse of Alvey l in Inver-
ness-shire, which we had taken for some con-
secutive summers in the early 'nineties. A
presentation was to be made to us on behalf
of the parishioners, consisting of two charming
water-colour paintings of Loch-an-Eilean, by
those excellent artists, Edith and Gertrud
Martineau, and an " overflow " for the
daughter in the shape of a silver card-case.

What inspired the graceful act I cannot say,
except it be the overkindness of the good
people of Alvey. It was in the forenoon that
the little deputation of four or five prominent
parishioners, headed by the minister, all dressed
in their best Sunday black, made their appear-
ance. The minister's address of presentation
had been followed by my little speech of thanks,
after which I went from friend to friend pouring
into his tumbler the liquid refreshment in general
use at baptisms, marriages, and burials, followed
by my daughter with the water -jug. Every
one meekly submitted to her ministrations
also a sort of baptism until she came to the
joiner of Lagganlia, who with a gentle wave
of his hand held her off, and, shaking his grey

1 Generally spelled Alvie ; but my excellent old friend the late
Rev. James Anderson, minister of the Parish, had ever been
anxious to see the old historical spelling restored.



70 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

elder's head, said, ifc Naw, naw thank ye
a can hae water at hame ! ' :

He was then sixty- seven, and only the other
day, twenty years .later, the dear old man sat,
facing a terrible March storm, on the box-seat
of the hearse that carried the remains of his
guid wife to the kirkyard, two miles away
from the home where he is now contentedly
waiting to " slip awa' " himself.

From a Scottish manse to the Imperial
kennels at Gatchina is a far cry, though the
connecting link might well be the dogs found
in both. Sped on our way by the hand-waved
blessings of the vodka - proof priest, we soon
found ourselves stopping at the entrance to
the kennels, where we were received by a very
aged man, tall the average height of the
Russian man struck me as altogether very
considerable and splendidly erect in spite of
his age. He was the keeper of the hounds,
and at once proceeded to conduct us through
what, but for the absence of furniture, seemed
more like a succession of drawing-rooms than
kennels. The hounds were nearly all of the
famous wolf-hound breed. In the first room,
beautifully light and airy, two of them, the
Czar's personal favourites, were actually repos-
ing on large, soft red velvet cushions, the most
perfectly shaped dogs I had ever seen : spotlessly



v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 71

snow-white, with long-haired, silky coats, their
narrow and very long heads finely modelled,
as if chiselled out of marble. The old man
told us the bones of these animals are exceed-
ingly delicate, those of the head especially so,
indeed thin to such an extent that it had
actually happened on one occasion that two
of them had in the excitement of the chase
run into each other at full speed, and, un-
fortunately knocking their heads together,
both fallen dead on the spot, with their skulls
broken. There were between fifty and sixty
of these lovely creatures in this dogs' palace,
each in his or her own bunk, with their names
above it. After feasting our eyes on their
beauty, the keeper now took out a bunch of
keys, and, bidding us follow, prepared us for
" a fearful sight." At the end of a little lane
in the woods adjoining the kennels we came
to a little wooden hut, the door of which led
to an enclosure with another door. This our
guide unlocked, and on its being opened we
beheld, inside a cage formed of very substantial
iron bars such as are used in zoological gardens,
the fiercest-looking dog imaginable, a bull-dog,
dark coated, not particularly large, but broader
chested than I had ever believed any dog
capable of being. The distance between his
short but wonderfully muscular front-legs must



72 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v

have been fully fifteen inches. With his large
white teeth showing under his short black
squat nose, in spite of his mouth being closed,
and a head equalling in size the reputed three
of that amiable guardian of the entrance to
Hades, he looked a veritable Cerberus. This
was His Majesty's own particular bear-dog, a
species bred purposely for bear-hunting. We
were told that this animal would tackle the
largest bear, not only without fear but with
absolute certainty of success, by jumping on,
and imbedding his mighty fangs in the bear's
neck. Nothing that poor beast can contrive
to free himself is of avail ; even rolling on
the ground will not shake off the dog, which
holds his prey as in a vice. A last frantic effort
usually enables the bear to get up on his hind-
legs, and during such a moment the Emperor
approaches the animal, and with a vigorous
thrust of the large knife finishes him.



VI



BUT to return to Vienna where, it will be
remembered, I was due to sing in. Bruch's
Odysseus. April 18, 1876 was the date of the
performance, historical because of its being
the last conducted by Brahms in his capacity as
Musical Director of the Society of the Friends
of Music, the only official post he has ever held.
It took place in the forenoon, and was followed
by the solemn ceremony of presenting Brahms
with an illuminated address of Farewell,
acknowledging his great achievements as con-
ductor of the society, and expressing the
society's and the chorus's regret at his
resignation.

A local celebrity, rather naughtily styled by
Brahms " The poet of the inner town " (Vienna
is divided into a number of postal districts
radiating from the central one, No. 1, which is
called the inner town), delivered a very eulogistic
oration, which Brahms, who could hardly
disguise his being considerably bored, merely
acknowledged with a painfully curt " Thank

73



74 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

you very much." Then he took under his arm
the folio containing the address and walked
away. He afterwards told me that such official
proceedings were exceedingly distasteful to
him.

Far more to his liking was the supper at
one of the leading hotels, to which, on the
evening of that day, a great many of his friends
sat down to honour him, and which the presence
of ladies made all the more acceptable to the
guest of the evening.

The memory of the anniversary of Beet-
hoven's death (March 26) in that year will
never fade from my mind, since it was my great
privilege to spend part of the day with Brahms
in the very chamber in which the great com-
poser had died. Common friends of ours were
then living in the suite of rooms once occupied
by Beethoven in the Schwarz - Spanierhaus.
From the corner of the room in which Beet-
hoven's bed had stood, his bust, adorned with
a laurel wreath, looked down upon us, and
though nearly half a century had passed away
since that historical thunderstorm during which
the immortal soul of the Titan had freed itself
from its earthly fetters, so deeply were we
impressed by the solemnity of the memory, that
when, after a long silence, we began to speak
again, we did so in subdued whispers only until



vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 75

we found ourselves outside again among the
stirring crowd of the lively Viennese.

Soon after those beautiful days I was due
at Diisseldorf, the scene of that year's Musical
Festival. The first performance there, under
Joachim's direction, of Handel's oratorio
Hercules had attracted a good many English-
men, among them Mr., afterwards Sir George
Grove and Walter Broadwood, in whose most
genial company I repeatedly found myself
during the Festival, and who were responsible
for my first thought of England as a possible
field for my future activity. A rather amusing
thing happened in connection with that first
festival performance of Hercules. An enterpris-
ing German publisher, rightly anticipating a
demand for vocal scores of that fine oratorio,
had prepared and published a new German
edition of it. In his desire to be as authentic
as possible he had taken hold of an old English
copy of the work, the title of which happened
to read " Handel 9 s Oratorio Hercules in Score. 99
There being, as is often the case, no punctua-
tion on the title-page, our friend, whose English
must have been on a par with his geography,
remembering, perhaps, Gluck's Iphi'genia in
Tauris, or maybe recollecting having read of
ic Flagranti," that Italian place, he supposed,
where so many refugees from justice are caught



76 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

every year, and which he could not find on
the map either, evidently took it for granted
that "Score," pronounced in two syllables,
" Sco-re," was another of those out-of-the-way
places of ancient history or mythology, and con-
fidently sent his volume into the world with
the strikingly original title " Hercules in Score,
Oratorium von Handel."

The Diisseldorf Festival was followed, in
June, by one at Kiel, the first, if I am not
mistaken, ever held in the north of Germany,
with Joachim as conductor-in-chief. One of
the days, the 28th, being Joachim's birthday,
there were special " goings on " after the
concert that night. The banquet was rendered
particularly interesting by the presence quite
a rare event then of an admiral of the United
States Navy and his officers, whose ships were
anchored in the roadstead off Diisternbrook.
After that we younger people, with the glow of
fresh successes on our cheeks, and the dream
of eternal youth in our hearts, joined by a
number of students from the University, poured
out into the large and beautiful garden surround-
ing the " Fest Halle." Here and there a soft
light from a tiny little coloured glass cup
peeped invitingly through the dark groves ;
the night was cool and lovely ; above us the
starry heavens, around us, in the bushes, the



vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 77

nightingales seemed to burst their little throats
in the ecstasy of song was it a wonder we
could not tear ourselves away, nor even think
of sleep ? The dawn was breaking before we
knew it, and between four and five that morning
some young men could be seen in a boat rowing
out to Diisternbrook, there, by a plunge into
the glorious sea, to end what in after years I
always remembered as and identified with
" The lovely night of June," whenever I heard
poor Goring-Thomas' charming song.

If this was the only instance I can recall
when, apart from railway journeys, I had
deliberately abstained from spending the night
in the orthodox manner, viz. in bed, the end
of the year provided me with another unique
experience, though of a somewhat different
character, the scene being the brilliantly
lighted studio of the Hungarian painter, Count
Zichy, in Paris, and the occasion a no less
interesting one than an improvised spiritualistic
seance.

After a capital performance of Mendelssohn's
L'Elie in Brussels on the 26th of December, at
which the King and Queen and the Countess
of Flanders were present, I went to 'Paris for
a few days' holiday. I had letters to Count
Zichy, and his more famous compatriot and
fellow-artist Muncacszi, and one evening at



78 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

the former's house I met at dinner Muncacszi,
Madame Essipoff, and a young, strange-looking
Polish lady with short hair, like a young man's,
whose name I have forgotten, who, I after-
wards learned, was a " Medium."

Dinner over, during which Muncacszi had
emphatically declared his utter disbelief in
spirits and supernatural manifestations, it was
proposed to have a test. In the middle of the
huge, lofty studio, where we found ourselves
after dinner, there stood, on four massive legs,
a large, heavy, solid oak table which it would
have taken two strong men to lift as much as
an inch. This table it was decided to try, by
forming a chain of hands on its top, to move,
or rather make to move by itself. We had each
of us to give our word of honour to Muncacszi
not to do anything whatever beyond keeping
our hands quietly on the table, not to try any
pressure, or to hasten the accomplishment of
the task by help of our feet, but to treat the
matter as a really serious one. So the thing
commenced. We were now all standing around
the table, our bodies at least a foot away from
it, only our hands, spread out, gently resting
on the top, the thumbs of each participant
meeting, and the little fingers touching those
of her or his neighbour. For fully ten minutes
there was no speaking, no sound and no sign,



vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 79

and the sceptics looked triumphant. Then,
once in a while, some of us seemed to feel a sort
of throbbing pulsation as it were in the table,
occasioning a quickly suppressed exclamation.
Gradually, however, there could be no doubt
that something was happening or going to
happen. Muncacszi grew excited, made us
swear by all that was dear to us that we were
not doing anything. Soon there came a decided
swaying movement on the part of the table,
and now we others, too, could not disguise our
growing excitement. We called out to each
other, never, however, breaking the chain of
hands : " Did you feel this ? " " Ifs you that's
doing it /" "No, upon my honour /"- " Truly!"
" Swear to me ! " All the while the table was
now moving quicker and quicker round and
round, we, always without letting go of it,
trying to move with it, which, however, grew
more and more difficult, until after a while
this huge piece of furniture actually danced
about all over the room like mad, mostly a
little above the floor, until, commencing to get
exhausted with the violent exercise, we had to
withdraw our hold when, the chain of hands
being broken, the thing dropped on to its feet
with a heavy thud, like one dead. Naturally
it took us quite a while to recover our mental
equilibrium. Poor Muncacszi was the last



80 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

to get over the effects of this certainly strange,
though perhaps physically explicable, experience.

Early the following year I was invited to
sing at the annual " Caecilien-Fest " at Minister
in Westphalia. There, in that quaint old
town, famous for what would have been the
great comedy of the Anabaptists but for the
excessively cruel punishment meted out to
the leaders of those poor deluded fanatics,
and of which a ghastly relic was at that time
still visible in the shape of an iron cage con-
taining the bleached skeleton of one of the chief
actors hanging from the spire of the Minster,
Julius Otto Grimm and Richard Barth had by
their zeal and enthusiasm created a musical
atmosphere second to none in Germany, and
to be called to one of those St. Cecilia Festivals
as a soloist was a much-coveted privilege.
Grimm, a German Russian, i.e. a native of the
Baltic provinces, was a musician of the first
order, and, more than that, one of the kindest,
simplest, most lovable of men, cultured beyond
the common and of a refreshing, contagious
enthusiasm for his art. He was on terms of
intimate friendship with Brahms who, like
everybody else, loved to come to these charm-
ing feasts of music and, on this occasion,
was to play his D Minor Concerto for Piano-



vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 81

forte the one in B flat was not written then
and to conduct his Triumphal Hymn.

Richard Barth,an excellent musician, pianist,
composer, and violinist, Grimm's right hand,
was an extraordinary young man, who in
after years amply fulfilled the promise he
then gave, for from Minister he was called as
Professor and Music director to the University
of Marburg, which a few years later made him
a doctor honoris causa of Philosophy. From
there he went to Hamburg where after, for
a period of ten years, conducting the Phil-
harmonic concerts, he now lives as Conductor
of the Singakademie and director of the
Conservatory of Music. When I called him
Grimm's " right hand " I should really have
said " left hand " for, gratifying as honours
and positions' doubtless are, there will always
be worthy people to achieve and fill them ; but
I doubt if there lives, or ever lived, another
violinist who, though not left-handed from
birth, fingers with his right hand and bows
with his left as Richard Barth does. How he
came to do it will, I am sure, as an illustration
of what enthusiasm and perseverance can
accomplish, be considered worth recording.
Born into a musical family, young Richard
was given his first little fiddle at the age of
three. He soon exhibited a decided talent for

G



82 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

the instrument, when, hardly a year later, the
boy accidentally severed one of the sinews of
the middle finger of his left hand by a cut with
a knife. As at that time 1854 surgery was
still very far from the marvellous achieve-
ments of the present time, the finger healed
badly and remained stiff, and there would
have been an end to fiddling for the little
fellow. So great, however, was his love for
his instrument, so keen his disappointment,
that his grandfather, himself a good musician,
one day conceived the idea of restringing the
fiddle in the reversed order, and placing it
into the delighted boy's right hand, gave him
the bow into the left, with the result that in a
very short time Richard had regained the skill
he had acquired before the accident, and in
time became a violinist of the first rank and
the leader of Grimm's orchestra.

I arrived at Grimm's house a few days
previous to the festival, at which, among other
things, I was to sing the baritone solo in Brahms'
Triumphal Hymn, and, much to my disgust,
just a few days before the concert, caught
a cold which made me dread that high F in
the solo " And behold now, the heavens opened
wide." I asked Brahms if he would object
to my altering that note into a more convenient
one, on account of that cold, and he said :



vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 83

" Not in the least. As far as I am concerned,
a thinking, sensible singer may, without hesita-
tion, change a note which for some reason or
other is for the time being out of his compass,
into one which he can reach with comfort,
provided always the declamation remains correct
and the accentuation does not suffer"

At the concert Brahms played his concerto
superbly. I especially noted his emphasizing
each of those tremendous shakes in the first
movement by placing a short rest between the
last note of one and the first small note before
the next. During those short stops he would
lift his hands up high and let them come down
on the keys with a force like that of a lion's
paw. It was grand.

" Isegrim " for by that sobriquet, the
poetical name for bear, dear old Julius Otto
Grimm was known and called by his friends
conducted, and fairly chuckled with joy at
every beautiful phrase.

The Triumphlied the difficulties of which
I could appreciate, when less than four years
later I had the privilege of introducing that
glorious work to England at a concert I gave
in the St. James's Hall for the benefit of the
Victoria Hospital for Children went splendidly.
Brahms conducted, and the joy and gratifica-
tion expressed in his face at the end, when



84 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

acknowledging the enthusiastic acclamations
of audience, chorus, and orchestra, was evidently
caused as much by the consciousness of having
written a truly great work, as by its reception
and appreciation ; a most welcome change from
the affected display of modesty or indifference
often exhibited on concert platforms.

The end of that month of February found
Brahms and me together in Coblentz on the
Rhine, where we were the soloists at one of
the regular Symphony Concerts conducted by
Maszkowski, a young and enthusiastic musician,
a Pole, who afterwards succeeded Bernhard
Scholz as conductor of the Orchester Verein in
my native Breslau. On the day before the
concert there was, as usual (people seemed to
have time then), the final full rehearsal
" Generalprobe " to which in most places in
Germany the public are admitted. Brahms
had played Schumann's Concerto in A Minor
and missed a good many notes. So in the
morning of the day of the concert he went to
the Concert Hall to practise. He had asked
me to follow him thither a little later and to
rehearse with him the songs his, of course he
was to accompany for me in the evening. When
I arrived at the hall I found him quite alone,
seated at the piano and working away for all he
was worth, on Beethoven's Choral Fantasia



vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 85

and Schumann's Concerto. He was quite red
in the face, and, interrupting himself for a
moment on seeing me stand beside him, said
with that childlike, confiding expression in his
eyes : " Really, this is too bad. Those people
to-night expect to hear something especially
good, and here I am likely to give them a
hoggish mess (Schweinerei). I assure you, I
could play to-day, with the. greatest ease, far
more difficult things, with wider stretches for
the fingers, my own concerto for example, but
those simple diatonic runs are exasperating. I
keep saying to myself : ' But, Johannes, pull
yourself together, Do play decently,' but no
use ; it's really horrid."

After our little private rehearsal of the songs,
Brahms, Maszkowski, who had in the mean-
time joined us, and I repaired to Councillor
Wegeler's, Brahms' host, in accordance with an
invitation to inspect the celebrated and really
wonderful wine-cellars of his firm, and to par-
take of a little luncheon in the sample room
afterwards. Toward the end of the repast,
which turned out to be a rather sumptuous
affair, relished by Brahms as much as by any
of us, a bottle of old Rauenthaler of the year
'65 was opened, with due ceremony, by our
host. It proved indeed to be a rare drop, and
we all sat in almost reverential silence, bent



86 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

over the high, light -green goblets, which we
held in close proximity to our respective noses.
Wegeler at last broke the silence with the
solemn words : " Yes, gentlemen, what Brahms
is among the composers, this Rauenthaler is
among the wines." Quick as lightning Brahms
exclaimed : " Ah, then let's have a bottle of
Bach now ! '

The concert went off well, as did the supper
afterwards. Brahms was in particularly high
spirits. The many proofs of sincere admira-
tion and affection he had received during his
stay in Coblentz had greatly pleased and
touched him, and he went so far as to make a
speech a very rare thing with him.

From Coblentz we went to Wiesbaden. We
were quite alone in our compartment, and I
had the happiness of finding him, in regard to
his own self and his way of working, more
communicative than ever before. Commencing
by speaking of the events of the past days, we
soon drifted into talking about art in general
and music in particular.

" There is no real creating," he said, " with-
out hard work. That which you would call
invention, that is to say, a thought, an idea, is
simply an inspiration from above, for which I
am not responsible, which is no merit of mine.
Yea, it is a present, a gift, which I ought even



vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 87

to despise until I have made it my own by right
of hard work. And there need be no hurry
about that, either. It is as with the seed-corn ;
it germinates unconsciously and in spite of our-
selves. When I, for instance, have found the
first phrase of a song, say,

, n u . , i






When the sil - very moon ....

I might shut the book there and then, go for a
walk, do some other work, and perhaps not
think of it again for months. Nothing, how-
ever, is lost. If afterward I approach the
subject again, it is sure to have taken shape ;
I can now begin really to work at it. But
there are composers who sit at the piano with
a poem before them, putting music to it from
A to Z until it is done. They write themselves
into a state of enthusiasm which makes them
see something finished, something important,
in every bar."

After the concert that evening we went to
the house of the Princess of Hesse-Barchfeld
to supper. Although Brahms, Ernst Franck,
the genial composer and conductor, who had
come over from Mannheim, and I were the only
non-aristocratic guests present, the affair was
very charming and " gemiitlich." Brahms'

1 The beginning of the beautiful song, " Die Mainacht," Op. 43.



88 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

neighbour at table was the very handsome
and fascinating wife of a celebrated general, and
this fact, together with the fiery Rhine wine,
had a most animating effect on him. After
supper the greater part of the company had a
very lively game of billiards, and just before
leaving, the Princess presented Brahms with a
handsome box of ebony, to the lid of which a
laurel wreath of silver was attached. Each
leaf of the wreath had the title of one of
Brahms' works engraved on it. He was
delighted, though much amused, at finding on
one of the leaves Triumphlied, that colossal
Song of Triumph for double chorus and
orchestra, and on the very one next to it
Wiegenlied, the sweet little lullaby of eighteen
bars.

The following morning there was a matinee
musicale at the house of the same Princess
of Hesse - Barchfeld. The Frankfort String
Quartet, Hugo Heermann leading, had come
over for the purpose. Brahms played with
them his Quartet in C Minor, Op. 60, and
then accompanied me in the longest, and to
me the finest, of his romances from Tieck's
beautiful Magellone, " Wie soil ich die Freude,
die Wonne denn tragen," Op. 33, No. 6.

After the matinee Brahms took me to the
Landgravine Anna of Hesse, a princess of con-



vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 89

siderable musical talent, whom however, as he
told me, he mostly admired for her simple
and modest, yet extremely cordial and affable
manners. Otherwise he did not particularly
care for personal intercourse with the " highest
spheres of society," as he called them.

On the Sunday before Shrove Tuesday we
had intended to go to the masked ball at the
Kursaal, for which we had already taken tickets.
In the afternoon, however, Brahms came to
my room in the hotel, and said : "I say ! I
have another idea ; let us give the tickets to
the head -waiter, and ourselves rather go to
Mr. X., which will entertain us just as well."

Mr. X. was a composer of great talent and
almost uncanny fertility, one of the most
celebrated and popular musicians of the day;
no one, I am quite sure, would be more surprised
than he himself, could he he died in 1882,
leaving a record of over two hundred published
compositions revisit the scenes of his many
triumphs and find himself utterly and com-
pletely forgotten.

Neither in England, where, not much longer
than a quarter of a century ago, his symphonies
used to attract big crowds to the Crystal
Palace, nor in his native Germany, can his
name now be found on concert programmes,
except perhaps, on very rare occasions, as that



90 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

of the composer of a little song or violin piece.
Such is fame !

" You know," Brahms said to me, " I am
really fond of the man, but can't help being
amused at his good-natured loquacity, which
to me is as good as a play. Do make him speak
of Wagner ; I like that especially ; and also
ask him to show you one of his orchestral scores ;
they are really models of what copying should
be. You will see that Mr. X. is an extraordin-
ary fellow. He is not happy unless he com-
poses a certain number of hours every day,
and with all that he copies even the parts of
his symphonies himself."

Well, to Mr. X.'s house we went accordingly,
finding, to our satisfaction, both him and his
wife at home. Brahms seemed tired ; he
spoke little, which, however, was only natural,
since both Mr. X. and his wife seemed to vie
with each other as to which could talk most
and quickest. At last Mr. X., who constantly
reminded me of Don Bartolo without the wig,
was called away into the next room by his
barber, who had come to shave him, and the
task of entertaining us rested on Mrs. X.'s
shoulders alone. " You have no idea," she
said, " how hard a worker X. is (she never said
6 my husband ') ; I am proud and happy to
have at last prevailed upon him to go for a



vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 91

walk with our daughter every day for two
hours, thus keeping him at least for two hours
a day from composing."

" Ah, that's good, that's very good," said
Brahms instantly, again looking as innocent
as a new-born babe. Mr. X., upon our taking
leave, offered to accompany us on a little stroll
through the park, during which he told us he
had received an invitation to conduct one of
his symphonies at a coming musical festival in
Silesia. Upon my speaking rather disparag-
ingly of the musical achievements of the moving
spirit of that festival, a member of the highest
aristocracy, who had published and produced
several pretentious and very inferior com-
positions of his own, Brahms said to me, with
the pretence of a serious rebuke in his voice :
" My dear Henschel, let me warn you to be
more cautious when speaking of a nobleman's
compositions, for you can never know who did
'em \ "

From Wiesbaden we went to Frankfort on
the Main. On arriving at the old hotel where
I had been in the habit of putting up, room
No. 42 was allotted to us by one of the menials.
While, however, we were sitting in the tap-
room over a farewell bottle of Rhine wine, the
head waiter, who knew us, came up to me,
announcing that a far better room, No. 11, had



92 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

\

been placed at our disposal. After a cosy chat
in the course of which, to my great delight,
Brahms had asked me if I knew of a very
remote, quiet spot, untrodden by excursionists,
where, during the summer vacation, we might
spend a week or two together we retired to
room No. 11, and it was my instant and most
ardent endeavour to go to sleep before Brahms
did, as I knew from past experience that other-
wise his impertinently healthy habit of snoring
would mean death to any hope of sleep on
my part.

My delight at seeing him take up a book
and read in bed was equalled only by my
horror when, after a few minutes, I saw him
blow out the light of his candle. A few seconds
later the room was fairly ringing with the most
unearthly noises issuing from his nasal and
vocal organs. What should I do ? I was in
despair, for I wanted sleep, and, moreover, had
to leave for Berlin early next morning. A
sudden inspiration made me remember room
No. 42. I got up, and went downstairs to the
lodge of the porter, whom, not without some
difficulty, I succeeded in rousing from a sound
sleep. Explaining cause and object, I made
him open room No. 42 for me. After a good
night's rest, I returned, early in the morning,
to the room in which I had left Brahms.



vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 93

He was awake and, affectionately looking
at me, with the familiar little twinkle in his
eye and mock seriousness in his voice, said to
me, well knowing what had driven me away :
" Oh, Henschel, when I awoke and found your
bed empty, I said to myself, ' There ! he's gone
and hanged himself ! ' But really, why didn't
you throw a boot at me ? "

The idea of my throwing a boot at Brahms !

During our hurried breakfast Brahms,
returning to Vienna, also had to take an early
train we again spoke of the coming summer,
and he seemed rather attracted by the glowing
description I gave him of the island of Riigen,
in the Baltic Sea, which I had visited before
and was very fond of, but which was quite un-
known to him. So we parted with a hearty
" Auf Wiedersehn," which made me very
happy in anticipation.

Soon after this, in April, I had the privilege
of being the guest, at the New Palace, Darm-
stadt, of the late and much-lamented Princess
Alice of Great Britain, the consort of Prince,
afterwards Grand-Duke, Louis of Hesse. The
Princess was a very remarkable woman :
simple and unaffected ; warm-hearted, broad-
minded some Philistines in Germany grumbled
at her friendship with David Strauss, the free-
thinker; wonderfully versed in literature, science



94 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

and the arts ; a devoted wife, and a model
mother. Of her rare thoughtful ness I shall
presently give an example.

On my former professional visits to Darm-
stadt I had been staying at the house of her
secretary, Dr. Becker, and the invitation this
time to the Palace came as a most gratifying
surprise to me.

I had a little suite of apartments assigned to
me, consisting of sitting-room, bedroom, and
in private houses then an almost unheard of
luxury my own bathroom ! A valet was
placed at my disposal for exclusive attendance
on me, and I felt altogether very grand. I am
sure I must have written some fifty letters or
so during that three days' visit. The most
distant members of my family, the most
neglected of my friends, I think, even, a few
enemies, were suddenly and affectionately re-
membered by me ; for the writing-paper, with
the royal cipher and the heading " New Palace,
Darmstadt," beautifully embossed on it, was
altogether irresistible..

Every afternoon the children sometimes
they did it rather reluctantly had to play to
me on the pianoforte, and every evening after
dinner I was the only guest staying at the
Palace the Princess and I played some four-
hand arrangements of classical music. On one



vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 95

occasion she showed me two volumes of old
English, Scottish, Irish, and Welsh melodies
which perfectly fascinated me, and the Princess,
seeing my enthusiasm, expressed great regret
at being unable to make me a present of them,
they having been given to her by her husband ;
" but," she said, " if ever you should go to
England, I shall see that you get them." I
was exceedingly grateful for what I took to be
a very charming fagon de parler, and soon
forgot all about it until, a year later, a few days
after my first arrival in London, I returned to
my rooms one night and found a big parcel for
me on the hall table, bearing on the cover the
words, " By command of H.R.H. Princess Louis
of Hesse," and containing the precious volumes.
.

There were only a few more concerts during
the following two months, and the long and
eagerly looked for holiday with Brahms drew
nearer and nearer. At last a note from him
told me of his having arrived at Sassnitz, and
as soon as I had packed my " seven things," as
they say in Germany, and taken leave of my
mother and sisters in Dresden, I started to
join him.

During that unforgettable time of our daily
intercourse I kept a diary, into which I made
my entries every evening.



96 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi

Outside of Germany and Austria, Brahms'
native and adopted countries, his works are
loved nowhere better nor known more widely
than in England. Yea, I doubt if, as regards
Brahms' place among the composers of the
world, anything has been written which in
soundness of judgment, discrimination, and
appreciation can compare with Sir W. H.
Hadow's admirable article, " Brahms and the
Classical Tradition," published soon after the
master's death, in the Contemporary Review.
Yet, Brahms never having visited England,
and the number of those who knew him at all
intimately being very small, I venture to hope
that this journal will not be unwelcome to the
many who, though more or less familiar with
Brahms the composer, would fain know a little
more of Brahms the man.



VII

SASSNITZ, ON THE ISLAND OF RUGEN,
Saturday, July 8, 1876.

ARRIVED here last night. The diligence was
delayed by one of the heaviest thunderstorms
I can remember, and I did not pull up at the
little hostelry, which also contains the post-
office, until half-past eleven ; but in spite of
the inclemency of the weather and the late
hour, Brahms was there to welcome me, and
we had an hour's chat in the little coffee-
room. Then he returned to his lodgings
down in the village, whilst I came up here
to the hotel on the Fahrnberg, where, how-
ever, to my great delight, Brahms is going
to have his mid -day and evening meals
regularly.

Sunday, July 9.

Early yesterday morning Brahms came up
to go bathing with me. There was a fine surf
on, and the temperature of the water being
rather high we stayed in it for nearly half an
hour, enjoying ourselves hugely. I greatly

97 H



98 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

admired Brahms' burly, well-knit, muscular
body, which is only rather too much inclined
to stoutness, I fear.

In the water he drew my attention to the
possibility of keeping one's eyes wide open
when diving. It is not only possible, he said,
but also very agreeable and strengthening for
the eyes. I at once followed his advice to try,
succeeding immediately, and we greatly amused
ourselves by throwing little copper coins into
the water and diving for them.

In the evening we sat together in the
Fahrnberg. I showed him the new series of
Moritz Hauptmann's letters.

After we had read a few, he said : " How
discreet one ought to be in writing letters.
Who knows, some day they'll be printed.
Now, there's hardly anything in these letters
which would not read just as well if their
contents were reversed. To be sure it is an
agreeable gift to be able to write clever letters,
but only letters of purely scientific purport are
in my opinion of real value to any but those
they are written to."

I drew Brahms' attention especially to one
letter, written to Professor R. 1 I expressed
my surprise at the lenient and amiable way in

1 An able, but decidedly mediocre composer of good birth, who
at that time occupied a rather prominent position as teacher at one
of the Musical Institutions of Berlin.



vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 99

which Hauptmann spoke of that gentleman's
compositions.

"Well," said Brahms, "you see, R. had
very aristocratic connections and Haupt-
mann ... a very delicate nature."

In the course of our talk one of the greatest
virtuosos of the day, a personal friend of
Brahms, was mentioned. " There are people,"
Brahms said, " who can talk and talk about the
most unlikely, impossible thing until they
actually believe it themselves. It's what I
would call Twaddle. For instance, the other
day, after having played the last movement
of my C Minor Quartet, in which a friend
detected a certain resemblance to Mendelssohn's
Trio in C Minor, without realizing that what,
there, is theme itself, is with me simply an
accompanying figure, my friend asked me,
in all seriousness, mind, ' Now, am I not
right : you wanted to show what you could
do with that theme ? ' How silly ! "

Two stories which Brahms told me I write
down as showing what a tender, sympathetic
heart he has. Both stories refer to Mr. N. 1
" With us in Vienna," Brahms began, " it
frequently occurs that the postmen, though
officially obliged to deliver all letters at the

1 A well-known writer and commentator on music, then living in
Vienna.



100 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

doors of the respective flats to which they are
addressed, leave them with the concierge of
the house, who, as you know, always has his
little lodgings in the souterrain. Well, Mr. N.,
who lived in the fourth floor, once received a
letter in that way twenty-four hours later than
he ought to have, if the postman had delivered
it, according to his duty, at the door.

" Without warning, N. lodged an informa-
tion against the offender with the general
postmaster, who ordered the matter to be
investigated. In the meantime a colleague of
the poor postman had succeeded in persuading
Mr. N.'s servant-girl to take the blame upon
herself, since nothing could happen to her,
whilst the postman, who was a married man
with a family, would surely be dismissed.
When, consequently, the post office com-
missioners appeared at N.'s house to ascertain
the exact facts of the case, the servant-girl
stepped forward, boldly declaring it was she
who had omitted to deliver the letter, which
had been in her pocket those twenty-four
hours. And the postman was saved."

Brahms' whole face beamed with joy as he
told the story, and especially the action of the
brave and generous girl he could not praise
highly enough.

The second story is equally pathetic.



vn MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 101

" N. and I," said Brahms, " met at the same
table in a certain coffee-house regularly on two
or three evenings in the week, and it always
used to embarrass me greatly when, on pay-
ing our bills, N. suspiciously scrutinized his,
questioning the waiter as to this or that
little item which he was not sure of having
had, etc.

" One evening, when this had happened
again, the waiter came close up to N., and
whispered into his ear, his voice trembling with
excitement and indignation : ' I beg of you,
Mr. N., not to mistrust me ; I could not live
if I thought you doubted my honesty.' Then
he retired. N. got up without changing a
muscle in his face, and left. A little later,
when I went home myself, I gave the waiter an
unusually large douceur, and said, ' This . . .
is ... from the other gentleman as well.' ;

Brahms is looking splendid. His solid frame,
the healthy, dark-brown colour of his face, the
full hair, just a little sprinkled with grey, all
make him appear the very image of strength
and vigour. He walks about here just as he
pleases, generally with his waistcoat un-
buttoned and his hat in his hand, always with
clean linen, but without collar or necktie.
These he dons at table d'hote only. His whole
appearance vividly recalls some of the portraits



102 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

of Beethoven. His appetite is excellent. He
eats with great gusto and, in the evening,
regularly drinks his three glasses of beer, never
omitting, however, to finish off with his beloved
" Kaffee."

July 10.

Yesterday afternoon I spent nearly three
hours in Brahms' rooms. He showed me new
songs of his, asking me if I could suggest a
short way of indicating that a certain phrase
in one of them was not his own.

" I have," he said, " taken a charming
motive of Scarlatti's



as the theme of a song I composed to one of
Goethe's poems, and should like to acknowledge
my indebtedness." I proposed, as the best and
simplest way, that he should merely place
Scarlatti's name at the end of the phrase in
question. 1

He also showed me the manuscript of an
unpublished song and the first movement of a
Requiem Mass, both by Schubert, enthusiasti-
cally commenting on their beauty. The first
two issues of the Bach Society's publication of

1 This was done, and the spirited, humorous song afterwards
published as No. 5 of Op. 72 (Simrock).



vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 103

cantatas were lying on his table, and he pointed
out to me how badly the accompaniments w T ere
often arranged for the piano ; how, in fact, the
endeavour to bring out as nearly as possible
every individual part of the orchestra had
rendered the arrangement well-nigh unplayable
for any but a virtuoso.

" The chief aim," he said, " of a pianoforte
arrangement of orchestral accompaniments
must always be to be easily playable. Whether
the different parts move correctly, i.e. in strict
accordance with the rules of counterpoint, does
not matter in the least."

Then we went together through the full
score of Mozart's Requiem, which he had
undertaken to prepare for a new edition of that
master's works. I admired the great trouble
he had taken in the revision of the score.
Every note of Siissmayer's was most carefully
distinguished from Mozart's own.

It was a wonderful experience to have this
man's company quite to myself for so long a
time. During all these days Brahms has never
spoken of anything which does not really
interest him, never said anything superfluous
or commonplace, except at the table d'hdte,
where he purposely talks of hackneyed things,
such as the weather, food, the temperature of
the water, excursions, etc., etc.



104 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

July 11.

I bought a strong hammock yesterday, and
Brahms and I went into the lovely beech-
wood and hung it up between two trees, on a
spot from which through the foliage we could
see the sea far below us. We both managed
to climb into it simultaneously, an amusing,
though by no means easy task to accomplish.
After having comfortably established ourselves
in it, we enjoyed a very cosy, agreeable hour
or two of dolce far niente. Brahms was in an
angelic mood, and went from one charming,
interesting story to another, in which the
gentler sex played a not unimportant part.

In the afternoon we resolved to go on an
expedition to find his bullfrog pond, of which
he had spoken to me for some days. His sense
of locality not being very great, we walked on
and on across long stretches of waste moorland.
Often we heard the weird call of bullfrogs in
the distance, but he would say : " No, that's
not my pond yet," and on we walked. At last
we found it, a tiny little pool in the midst of a
wide plain grown with heather. We had not
met a human being the whole way, and this
solitary spot seemed out of the world altogether.

" Can you imagine," Brahms began, " any-
thing more sad and melancholy than this music,
the undefinable sounds of which for ever and



vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 105

ever move within the pitiable compass of a
diminished third ?



" Here we can realise how fairy tales of
enchanted princes and princesses have origin-
ated. . . . Listen ! There he is again, the
poor King's son with his yearning, mournful
C flat ! " i

We stretched ourselves out in the low
grass, it was a very warm evening, lighted
cigarettes and lay listening in deepest silence,
not a breath of wind stirring, for fully half an
hour. Then we leaned over the pond, caught
tiny little baby frogs and let them jump into
the water again from a stone, which greatly
amused Brahms, especially when the sweet
little creatures, happy to be in their element
once more, hurriedly swam aw r ay, using their
nimble little legs most gracefully and according
to all the rules of the natatory art. When they
thought themselves quite safe, Brahms would
tenderly catch one up again in his hand, and
heartily laugh with pleasure on giving it back
its freedom. . . .

During our walk homeward, we spoke almost
exclusively of musical matters, and he said :

1 It is interesting to note that in Brahms' songs dating from
this period this interval frequently occurs.



106 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

" You must practise more gymnastics, my dear,
four-part songs, variations, string quartets, etc. ;
that will be beneficial to your opera, too." l

As we parted for the night, he called after
me : " Come for me to-morrow morning, to go
bathing ; and bring new songs, Gerda score, or
other beautiful things." (How he does like to
tease !) So this morning I brought him three
new songs of mine.

The afternoon was again spent in the ham-
mock, and on the way home we came to talk
of Wagner's trilogy, The Ring of the Nibelungs.
I had just spoken of some, to me, especially
beautiful places in the first act of The Valkyrie,
and of the fresh and breezy song of Siegfried in
Siegfried " From the wood forth into the world
fare."

" Certainly," he said, " these are fine things,
but I can't help it, somehow or other, they do
not interest me. What you just hummed



is no doubt beautiful ; and when Siegmund in
the Valkyrie pulls the sword out of the tree,
that's fine, too ; but it would, in my opinion,
be really powerful and carry one away, if it all
concerned let us say, young Buonaparte, or

1 I was engaged at that time in writing a very tragic opera
Gerda I



vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 107

some other hero who stands nearer to our
sensibilities, has a closer claim to our affection.
And then that stilted, bombastic language."
He took a copy of the text-book. " Listen " :

An Brunnhild's Felsen
Fahret vorbei :
Der dort noch lodert,
Weiset Loge nach Walhall !

Denn der Cotter Ende

Dammert nun auf ;
So werf' ich den Brand
In WalhalPs prangende Burg.

(By Brynhild's rock then
Take ye the road.
Who still there flameth,
Loge, show him to Walhall.

For the end of the Gods

Is dawning at last ;
Thus throw I the torch
Into Walhall's glittering walls.)

He recited the words with greatly exagger-
ated pathos. " If I read this to a counting-
house clerk, I am sure it would make a tremend-
ous impression : ' So werf ich den Brand
. . . / do not understand this kind of thing.
What really does happen with the ring ? Do
you know ? And those endless and tedious duets !
Look at even Goethe's Tasso, a masterpiece of
the first rank. Every word there is pure gold ;
yet the long duets in it, though fine reading, pre-
vent the play from being interesting as a drama."



108 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

July 12.

I went to Brahms' rooms last night. He
had been reading, but, putting away his book,
gave me a cordial welcome and began looking
through my new manuscript songs. He took
up the one in E flat " Where Angels linger," x
and said, " Now there is a charming song. In
some of the others you seem to me too easily
satisfied. One ought never to forget that by
actually perfecting one piece one gains and
learns more than by commencing or half-finish-
ing a dozen. Let it rest, let it rest, and keep
going back to it and working at it over and over
again, until it is completed as a finished work of
art, until there is not a note too much or too little,
not a bar you could improve upon. Whether
it is beautiful also, is an entirely different
matter, but perfect it must be. You see, I am
rather lazy, but I never cool down over a work,
once begun, until it is perfected, unassailable."

Thus he continued speaking, drawing, in the
most amiable way, my attention to this little
defect, that little blemish, so that I sat happy
and silent, careful not to interrupt this, to me,
so precious lesson.

July 13.

I asked him yesterday if he had thought of
going to the inauguration performances of

1 Afterwards published in Op. 34 (Bote & Bock).



vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 109

The Nibelungs' Ring at Bayreuth in August.
" I am afraid," he said, " it's too expensive. I
have repeatedly heard Rheingold and Walkure
at Munich, and confess it would greatly interest
me, but well, we'll think of it."

Then, taking up the volume of Hauptmann's
letters I had lent him, and pointing to one of
them, he said : " Just look ; do you see these
asterisks instead of a name ? 5: I did, and
read the whole sentence, which described a
certain composer, indicated by the asterisks, as
a rather haughty young man. " That's me"
said Brahms amusedly. " When I was a very
young man I remember playing, at Gottingen,
my Sonata in C to Hauptmann. He was
not very complimentary about it, in fact, had
much fault to find with it, which I, a very
modest youth at that time, accepted in perfect
silence. I afterwards heard that this silence
had been interpreted and complained of as
haughtiness. I confess, the more I read of
these letters the clearer it becomes to me that
they are written with a certain consciousness of
importance. Beethoven would have laughed
if any one, seeing in one of his letters a remark
on any subject whatever, had taken this as
proving the justice of such remark. But there
are people take, for instance, Varnhagen
who, never having accomplished anything really



110 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

great themselves, sit down at their writing-
desks in a peevish, sulky temper, pulling to
pieces even when praising everything they
can lay hold of. To twaddle about Bach or
Beethoven, as is done in the letters to Hauser,
in a chattering, feuilletonistic way, is wholly
unnecessary : they are too great for that kind
of thing."

July 14.

Last evening we were sitting downstairs in
the eoffee-room, having supper, when suddenly
some one in the adjoining dining-hall began to
play Chopin's Study in A flat on the piano. I
sprang up, intending to put a stop to it, and
exclaiming, " Oh, these women ! " when Brahms
said, " No, my dear, this is no woman." I
went into the hall to look, and found he was
right. " Yes," he said, " in this respect I am
hardly ever mistaken ; and it is by no means
an easy thing to distinguish, by the sense of
hearing alone, a feminine man from a masculine
woman ! "

July 15.

Yesterday morning I took to Brahms the
orchestral score of Wagner's Gotterddmmerung.
In the afternoon he said to me, " Why did you
bring it to me ? " (He had particularly asked



vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 111

me for it !) " The thing interests, and fasci-
nates one, and yet, properly speaking, is not
always pleasant. With the Tristan score it is
different. If I look at that in the morning, I
am cross for the rest of the day." 1

. . . To-day I read out, from a Berlin paper,
the news of the death, at Bayreuth, of a member
of the Wagner orchestra. " The first corpse,"
said Brahms, dryly.

July 17.

Yesterday I was with Brahms from noon
until eleven at night without interruption. He
was in excellent spirits. We had our swim in
the sea together, and again found much amuse-
ment in diving for little red pebbles. After

1 I well remember my wondering at the time just what meaning
Brahms intended to convey by these words. My old friend, Max
Kalbeck, editor of the Neues Tagblatt in Vienna, who published
excerpts from my diary in his paper, made the following comment
on them :

" This sentence needs an explanation, since it could easily be
interpreted as meaning that Tristan, in contrast to the ' not
always pleasant ' Ring of the Nibelungs, had pleased Brahms very
much, so much, indeed, that it made him cross out of envy. We
know from personal experience that Brahms, though warmly
acknowledging the many musical beauties of the work, had a
particular dislike for Tristan, and as to envy, he never in his
life envied any one. In Wagner he admired, above all, the magni-
tude of his intentions and the energy in carrying them out. The
Bayreuth Festival Theatre he hailed as a national affair. We
believe the chief reason why Brahms never went to Bayreuth is to
be found in the circumstance that the performances always
happened at a season when he, after long and arduous creative
work, was wont to give himself up entirely to the recreation of an
out-of-door life in the country.''



112 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

the mid-day dinner Brahms was lying in my
room, in the hammock which I had secured
between window and door, while I read to him
Meilhac's amusing comedy, L? Attache. After
the usual coffee at a coffee-house on the beach,
we went for a long stroll in the Hansemann
Park, near Crampas, the nearest village. We
spoke, among other things, of Carl Loewe.
Brahms thinks highly of his ballads and Serbian
songs. " However, with us in Vienna," he
said, " Loewe is, to my regret, much overrated.
One places him, in his songs, side by side with,
in his ballads, above, Schubert, and overlooks
the fact that what with the one is genius, with
the other is merely talented craft. . . .

" In writing songs," he cautioned me, " you
must endeavour to invent, simultaneously with
the melody, a healthy, powerful bass. You
stick too much to the middle parts. In that
song in E flat, for instance " he again referred
to " Where Angels linger " " you have hit
upon a very charming middle part, and the
melody, too, is very lovely, but that isn't all,
is it ? And then, my dear friend, let me counsel
you : no heavy dissonances on the unaccentu-
ated parts of the bar, please ! That is weak.
I am very fond of dissonances, you'll agree,
but on the heavy, accentuated parts of the bar,
and then let them be resolved easily and gently."



vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 113

Speaking of Schubert's setting of Goethe's
songs, he said, " Schubert's ' Suleika ' songs are
to me the only instances where the power and
beauty of Goethe's words have been enhanced
by the music. All other of Goethe's poems
seem to me so perfect in themselves that no
music can improve them."

Passing from music to literature, he re-
marked : " Paul Heyse used to be one of the
most charming men imaginable. He was
beautiful and exceptionally amiable, and I
hardly know of any one who, suddenly entering
a room, would illuminate it, so to speak, by his
personality in the way Heyse did.

" Bodenstedt is greatly overrated. His
poetry is my special aversion. Geibel, on the
other hand, seems to me not appreciated
enough."

Perhaps I may be allowed here to interrupt
the diary for a moment, and to draw the reader's
attention to the discretion and judiciousness
with which Brahms selected the words for his
songs.

If we look at the texts to his vocal music, of
which there exists a vast mass, we shall find
that the sources individual or national from
which he drew his inspiration, have in them-
selves been, to a greater or lesser degree,

I



114 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

inspired. All his songs, duets, quartets, etc.,
are set to beautiful, significant, worthy poems.

If one of the chief aims of art be to elevate,
i.e. to raise mankind for the time being above
the commonplace routine of life, above paltry
everyday thoughts and cares, in short, from
things earthy to things celestial, surely such an
aim should be discernible even in the smallest
form of the expression of art.

Just as the beauties of nature, testifying to
the incomprehensible greatness of the divine
power, reveal themselves as convincingly in a
little primrose as in the huge trees of the
Yosemite Valley, in the sweet prattling of a
little brooklet as in the roaring thunder of
Niagara, in the lovely undulations of the
Scottish hills as in the awe-inspiring heights of
the Himalayas, so beauty of soul, honesty of
purpose, purity of mind, can shine as brightly
in the shortest song as in the longest symphony.

No true artist then in the realm of music
will debase his muse by wedding it to senti-
mental trash as far removed from poetry as a
mole-hill from Mount Parnassus, though it often
be a difficult task, especially for young people,
to distinguish sentimentality from sentiment.

The former may be described as superficial,
aimless pity ; affected, unreal, unwholesome
emotion. Sentiment, on the other hand, is true



vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 115

emotion ; it is the feeling that grows naturally
out of the sympathetic contemplation of a
thing ; and the sentiment it is, not the thing,
which we ought to look for, in the first place,
even in a little song, as a fit object for poetic
and musical expression.

A true artist's spirit will not allow itself
to be moved by versifications of penny-a-line
newspaper reports, such as the capsizing of a
little pleasure-boat with two hapless lovers in
it, or the death by starvation of a poor old
seamstress ready to meet her lover in heaven,
or effusions of a similar kind, generally ending
in pseudo-religious inferences and exhortations
little short of blasphemy.

The standing of the pale, hungry little boy
outside the window of a confectioner's shop and
observing inside the shop the rich, ruddy little
fellow eating his fill, that is not poetry, even
if put into faultless verse and rhyme, but simply
a fact, and a sad one, too, the contemplation of
which might, in a fine poetic mind, produce the
most beautiful sentiments of compassion with
the sufferings of our fellow-creatures, of tender-
ness, of love ; but to let the poor little chap
march straightway to heaven, to the fortissimo
accompaniment of triplets on the last page of
an up-to-date ballad, that is sentimentality,
and cruel mockery into the bargain.



116 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

I well remember what fun Brahms and I
had in later years when I showed him some
specimens of the typical popular English ballad,
now fortunately almost an extinct species,
and how we laughed especially over the sad
ones ! But to return to the rest of the journal.


After supper we sat, quite alone in the dark
on the terrace of the Fahrnberg. Soon our
conversation took a more serious turn. He
spoke of friendship and of men, and how,
properly speaking, he believed very little in
either.

" How few true men there are in the world ! '
he exclaimed. " The two Schumanns, Robert
and Clara, there you have two true, beautiful
* Menschenbilder ' (images of man). Know-
ledge, achievement, power, position nothing
can outweigh this : to be a beautiful ' Menschen-
bild.' Do you know Allgeyer in Munich ? *
There you have one, too." And then he began
to talk with touching warmth of the time
when, in Allgeyer's house at Karlsruhe, he wrote
his "Mainacht " and the D Minor movement of
his Requiem. ..." I sometimes regret," he

1 An engraver and photographer with a great love for music ;
the intimate friend of the painter Anselm Feuerbach, and one of a
small circle of musicians, painters, and poets then living in Munich,
and comprising, among others, Hermann Levi, Franz Lenbach,
Paul Heyse, and Wilhelm Busch.



vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 117

said to me after some moments of silence, " that
I did not marry. I ought to have a boy of
ten now ; that would be nice. But when I was
of the right age for marrying I lacked the
position to do so, and now it is too late."

Speaking of this had probably revived in
him reminiscences of his own boyhood, for he
continued : " Only once in my life have I
played truant and shirked school, and that was
the vilest day of my life. When I came home
my father had already been informed of it, and
I got a solid hiding."

" But still," he said, " my father was a dear
old man, very simple-minded and most un-
sophisticated, of which qualities I must give
you an amusing illustration :

" You know he was a double-bass player in
the Municipal Orchestra of Hamburg, and in
his leisure hours tried to increase his scanty
little income by copying music.

"He was sitting in his room at the top of
the house one fine day, with the door wide
open, absorbed in writing out the parts from
an orchestral score, when in walked a tramp,
begging. My father looked up at him quickly,
without interrupting his work, and, in his very
pronounced Hamburg dialect, said :

" ' I cannot give you anything, my dear man.
Besides, don't you know it's very wrong of



118 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

you to come into a room in this way ? How
easily might you not have taken my overcoat
that's hanging in the hall ! Get out, and don't
you do it again ! '

"The tramp humbly apologized and with-
drew.

" When, a few hours later, my father wanted
to go out for a walk, the overcoat had of course
disappeared."

Brahms then touched upon his relations
with the members of his family, and told me he
still supported his old stepmother. With his
sister he had little in common ; their interests
had always been too far apart. Between his
brother, whom he had likewise supported, and
himself, there existed no intercourse what-
ever. . . .

The other day I happened to hum the theme
of the Andante from his Quartet in C Minor.
He seemed rather to like my doing so, for when
it came to the place



he accompanied my humming with gentle
movements of his hand, as if beating time to
it. At last he smilingly said : "I am not at
all ashamed to own that it gives me the keenest
pleasure if a song, an adagio, or anything of



viz MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 119

mine, has turned out particularly good. How
must those gods : Bach, Mozart, Beethoven,
have felt, whose daily bread it was to write
things like the St. Matthew Passion, Don
Giovanni, Fidelio, Ninth Symphony ! What I
cannot understand is how people like myself
can be vain. As much as we men, who walk
upright, are above the creeping things of the
earth, so these gods are above us. If it were
not so ludicrous it would be loathsome to me
to hear colleagues of mine praise me to my face
in such an exaggerated manner."

Thus he went on ; it was no longer modesty,
it was humility, and I took good care not to
disturb his mood by a single word.

Soon, however, he smiled again, and re-
marked, among other things, that he considered
the Agitato from his still unpublished Quartet
in B flat the most amorous, affectionate thing
he had written.

When we parted that night, he said : " You
will write me from Bayreuth, won't you ? I
know you will rave about it, and I don't blame
you. I myself must confess Walkure and
Gdtterddmmerung have a great hold on me.
For Rheingold and Siegfried I do not particularly
care. If I only knew what becomes of the Ring
and what Wagner means by it ! Perhaps the
Cross ? Hebbel, in his Nibelunge, has dared it,



120 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vii

and perhaps it was Wagner's meaning too. I
am by no means a fanatic as to my devotion
to the cross, but that, at least, would be an idea
thus to indicate the termination of the reign
of the gods."

July 18.

Yesterday, when, after our usual swim, we
leisurely strolled to the Fahrnberg for dinner,
a button on Brahms' shirt suddenly came off.
As it was the one which served to hold the
collar in its place, Brahms was greatly embar-
rassed. I proposed to help him out, and we
went to my room, where I took out of my valise
a little box containing sewing materials which
my mother had given me to carry with me when
travelling. The amusing situation of my sew-
ing the button on to Brahms' shirt while he had
it on, again recalled memories of his youth.
" When / went on my first journey," he said,
laughingly, " my mother also put such a little
box into my bag, and showed me how to use its
contents. But I remember quite well, when I
tore a hole in my trousers, I repaired it with
sealing wax ! It didn't last long, though."

At luncheon, as it was my last day, we had
a bottle of champagne between us. In the
afternoon, the other guests having partly
retired to their rooms, partly gone on excur-



vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 121

sions, Brahms played the accompaniments to
some songs for me. Since our arrival this was
the first time that he had touched the key-
board and that I had sung. I began with
Brahms' " Mainacht," then came a Schubert
song, and then Beethoven's cyclus " To the
Absent Beloved." When we had ended we
were surprised to find that all the adjoining
rooms had filled with listeners. Mine host of
the Fahrnberg was greatly touched, and thanked
Brahms for the honour he had done to his
house.

IN THE TRAIN TO BERLIN, July 19.

This morning, at five o'clock, I left Sassnitz.
Strangely enough, it again poured in torrents,
as on the night of my arrival. A horrid, chilly
morning. Brahms was up at the Fahrnberg a
little before five, and, to my delight, accom-
panied me in the diligence as far as Lancken,
some three miles from Sassnitz. There he got
out, we shook hands, and parted. For a long
time I looked after him out of the carriage
window in spite of the wind and the still pouring
rain. It was a picture never to be forgotten.
As far as the eye could reach, nothing but moor,
and clouds, and Brahms.

Here closes the journal. As, during the



122 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn

twenty-one years of undisturbed friendship
that followed our intercourse had to be mostly
by letter, and our meetings fewer and further
between, the Channel and, later on, the Atlantic
separating us bodily, I shall complete now what
further recollections of the great composer I
have preserved.



VIII

IN 1878 Brahms had considerably changed his
outward appearance by the growth of the long
and flowing beard in the frame of which his
face has become familiar to the last and
present generations. Our first meeting was
marked by an amusing little incident, illus-
trative of his ever-abiding love of fun.

At the end of that year I was engaged upon
an extended recital tour through Austria and
Hungary, together with my friend Ignaz Briill,
the composer and pianist. We commenced in
Vienna. Having arrived only a day or two
previous to the first recital I had not seen
Brahms as yet. At the end of the concert
Briill and I were receiving, in the artists' room,
the congratulations of friends, when suddenly
I saw a man unknown to me, rather stout, of
middle height, with long hair and full beard,
coming up toward me. In a very deep and
hoarse voice he introduced himself " Musik-
director Miiller," making a very stiff and formal
bow, which I was on the point of returning with

123



124 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vm

equal gravity, when, an instant later, we all
found ourselves heartily laughing at the perfect
success of Brahms' disguise, for, of course, he
it was. . . .

Of subsequent reunions, two have been
especially vividly impressed on my mind. In
order that my wife, who hitherto had only
occasionally met this great and admired friend,
should have an opportunity of knowing him
more familiarly, she and I travelled to Vienna,
in 1894, for the sole purpose of spending a few
days in Brahms' company.

" For once, dear friend," he had written to
me on my announcing our visit, " Simrock is
right. 1 I am not the last, nor by any means
the only one rejoiced at the prospect of your
coming. Heartily welcome then, and may it
be a cheerful meeting ! 5:

On our arrival in Vienna, rather late in the
evening of April 23, we found a note from
Brahms awaiting us at our hotel : "If not too
tired after your journey, do come to us, quite
close by, at the restaurant of the ' Musik-
Verein ' ; just as you are, informally, in your
travelling clothes." Who could resist the
temptation ? Arrived at the indicated place,
we found a little party of men and women,

1 This was meant facetiously. Fritz Simrock, Brahms' pub-
lisher, was, and remained to the end, one of the most trusted and
highly valued of his friends.



viii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 125

mostly members of the " Tonkiinstler-Verein "
(Tone-Artists' Union), gathered together in a
social way, as usual, after one of their weekly
concerts. Brahms, surrounded, as always on
such occasions, by a host of admiring ladies,
young and elderly, in regard to whose charms
and homage his susceptibilities had not by any
means lessened with the advancing years, was
in excellent spirits and gave us a most cordial
welcome.

Early the following morning we went to his
rooms. He received us, as was his wont with
friends, irrespective of sex, attired in a short
jacket of which the lowest button only was put
to its proper use ; without waistcoat or shirt
collar, and in slippers. The coffee-machine
he always made his own coffee in the morning
was still standing on the table ; the air
of the large, yet cosy room was filled with
the delicious fragrance peculiar to Viennese
coffee ; the sun shone brightly through the
large windows and the whole atmosphere was
one of quiet, inward happiness, contentment,
and ease.

Soon our host commenced to ransack
drawers, cupboards, shelves for things he
thought might interest and entertain us, when
suddenly, with that dear, familiar twinkle in
his eyes and a long - drawn " A-a-ah ! " he



126 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vm

motioned us to settle down quickly to a treat
which apparently he had in store for us. Then,
smilingly and with mock ceremony, he opened
a large portfolio and showed and read to us,
with great gusto, the famous letters of Richard
Wagner to the milliner. He had bought the
collection recently and seemed very proud of
the precious possession, chuckling with amuse-
ment as he went from one amazing letter to
another.

After a few days of charming intercourse
with him and our mutual friends Ignaz Brull,
Max Kalbeck, Carl Goldmark, and Johann
Strauss, the famous composer of the " Blue
Danube " valse, which Brahms often protested
he would have given much to have written
himself, we left Vienna ; and only once more
was I privileged to see the great man in the
flesh.

That was in January 1896, when Brahms,
Edvard Grieg, Arthur Nikisch, and myself
spent a delightful evening together at one of
the favourite restaurants of Leipsic.

Brahms, rather stouter, it seemed to me,
than I had ever seen him before, was in the
merriest of moods and did ample justice to the
excellent beer of Munich brew, of which he
consumed an astounding quantity before we
parted, long after midnight.



vni MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 127

Nothing seemed to indicate the approach
of the mortal disease which was to take hold
of him so soon afterwards, and little did
Nikisch and I dream that night that our next
meeting would be among the mourners at
Brahms' funeral.

It was in the evening of April 3, 1897, that
I arrived in Vienna, too late to see the dear
friend alive. He had breathed his last that
morning.

I hurried to the death-chamber, which had
been transferred into a chapelle ardente. The
arrangements usual in Catholic countries : a
plentiful display of silver crosses on draperies
of black velvet, huge brass candelabra on
which tall wax candles were burning, presented
a strange contrast to the simplicity of the life
and habits of the master (who had been a
Protestant), and it was only the beautiful
flowers which Love and Admiration had piled
up in great and fragrant masses on the floor
beneath the canopy until they reached high
above the coffin, almost completely hiding it
from sight, that somewhat reconciled one to
the inappropriateness of the official decoration
of the room.

The Tuesday following, April 6, was the day
of the funeral. As if Nature had wished to
present an image of the character of the master's



128 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vm

music, combining, as it does, the gentle with
the severe, cold winds of winter alternated
with balmy breezes of spring.

From early morning on, friends and deputa-
tions, carrying wreaths and flowers and palm-
branches, followed each other in constant
succession up the three familiar flights of stairs
to the master's apartments, and the place
before the house of mourning in the Karlsgasse
began to fill with people ready to join in the
procession. By noon nearly the whole of the
street, and the open space in front of the ad-
joining Karlskirche, were one mass of humanity.
All musical Vienna seemed assembled, and
the extraordinarily large number of eminent
men and women who had come from far and
near to pay their last tribute of Love and
Devotion to what had been mortal of Johannes
Brahms must have conveyed some idea of his
greatness and popularity, even to those who
hitherto had perhaps not quite realized either.

One could not help being reminded of
the historical answer the old peasant woman
gave to the stranger who had happened to
arrive in Vienna on the day of Beethoven's
funeral : " Whose funeral is this ? " the wonder-
ing stranger had asked. " Why, don't you
know ? " was the reply, " They are a-buryin'
the General of the Musicians ! "



viii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 129

At last the coffin with its precious load
appeared in the doorway. Every head un-
covered. Amid reverential and most impressive
silence it was lifted on to the open funeral car.
To its lid were fastened two wreaths of gigantic
proportions, sent, the one by the composer's
native city, the free town of Hamburg, the
other by the corporation of Vienna, the home
of his adoption ; and the procession, headed by
a standard-bearer in old Spanish costume,
riding on a black horse, started on its melan-
choly journey.

The rather lugubrious impression created
by the six riders in similar attire, who, also
mounted on coal-black horses and carrying
lighted tapers on long poles, followed the
standard-bearer, was relieved by a wonderful
sight : a succession of six high, open funeral
cars, each freighted to the very top with an
abundance of beautiful fresh flowers, laurels,
palms ; their many-coloured ribbons floating
down to the ground. The sun, which had come
out gloriously by that time, shone, as it were,
on a gigantic moving garden ; a spectacle as
lovely as it was solemn. Before the building
of the " Society of the Friends of Music," the
procession halted. The doors and pillars were
draped in black cloth. On either side of the
portal, from metal bowls, resting on the top



130 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vin

of high candelabra and filled with ignited
spirit of wine, blue flames were flickering with
a subdued, mystical light. From underneath
a canopy the " Sing-Verein," which so often
had sung under the inspiring direction of the
master, now sang his own beautiful part-song,
" Farewell " (Op. 93 A, No. 4).

As the lovely strains rang out into the vernal
air, there could be heard from the neighbouring
trees the merry twittering of birds whose song
seemed to have been kindled by the unwonted
occurrence no less than by the approach of
spring. At last, after a short choral service in
the old church in the Dorotheer Gasse, the
cemetery was reached. Another touching fare-
well, another song and the mortal remains of
Johannes Brahms were lowered into their last
resting-place, close to those of Beethoven and
Schubert.

I have forgotten the name of the preacher
who delivered the funeral oration in the church,
but the echo of his eloquent words is still ringing
in my ears. *

There have at all times lived great artists
who have been small men. In Brahms both
the man and the artist aspired to high and
lofty ideals. It never was his aim or ambition
to gain for himself, through cheap and dazzling



viii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 131

play with tones or "catching" tunes, the
quickly withering crowns of popular favour.

Though undisguisedly delighted when find-
ing himself appreciated and acclaimed, he
coveted neither fame nor applause. He was
of a very simple, kind, childlike disposition.
He loved children, and to make them happy
was to himself a source of pure happiness.

He loved the poor, to whom his heart went
out in sympathy and pity. He hated show
of charity. But where he could comfort in
silence those who suffered in silence, those who
struggled against undeserved misfortune, the
sick and the helpless, there the man, so modest,
sparing, and unpretentious in his own wants,
became a benefactor, ready for sacrifice. No
better summing up of Brahms' character and
personality has been written than that con-
tained in the words of his and my old friend,
Franz Wullner : " He has left us a precious in-
heritance, the noble example of a rare truthful-
ness and simplicity in art and life ; of a relent-
less severity toward himself, of a hatred of
self-conceit and pretence ; of a high-minded,
inflexible, unwavering, artistic conviction. To
him may be truly applied Goethe's fine words
in his Epilogue to Schiller's Lay of the Bell :

With mighty steps his soul advanced
Toward the ever True Good Beautiful."



IX



THE time immediately following those unforget-
table days with Brahms on the island of Rugen
in 1876 was spent in the Thuringian Woods,
where, at the summer home of a dear friend,
I prepared myself for the great musical event
of the time, the first performance, at Bayreuth,
in August of that year, of Wagner's trilogy, The
Ring of the Nibelungs, by studying the scores
of that stupendous work and trying to get
over the feeling of disappointment at finding
the passionate, noble Wotan of the Walkiire,
whom I loved, to have turned, as the Wanderer
in Siegfried, with those endless arguments
with Erda, into something of a bore a
feeling which, if truth must be told, neither
the Bayreuth nor any subsequent performances
have been able to modify.

To try to express in words the awe and
wonder, the frantic enthusiasm, with which
the great trilogy was received at that memorable
occasion in Bayreuth would be as useless as to
attempt to depict the scenes in the streets of

132



ix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 133

that quaint, quiet little Bavarian town a few
days previous to the first performance. They
were thronged with people of all nationalities,
who could be seen taking off their hats, as
to a king, to Richard Wagner as now and
then he was driving to the station in an open
landau, attired in evening- dress and white
necktie, though it be broad daylight, to receive
a reigning German prince who arrived to hear
his work the work of the revolutionary on
whose proscribed head, in 1848, a price had been
put ! Truly a wonderful illustration of the
all-conquering power of genius.

The mornings of the days of the perform-
ances and the whole day of rest between
Walkure and Siegfried were generally devoted
to excursions into the charming and pictur-
esque surroundings of Bayreuth, and every-
where the restaurants were crowded with
visitors and the merry folk of musicians,
members of the orchestra and singers, from the
prima donnas and " Heldentenors " downward,
to such an extent that people of the most
proper description and of both sexes could be
seen sitting on empty beer-barrels on the side
walks, and offering the keepers of hotels and
lodging-houses evidently not being prepared
nor having provided for so large a concourse of
people as much as three or four shillings for



134 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES ix

a glass of Munich beer and a pair of Vienna
sausages. The feeling of all these people that
they had come not merely to listen to, or to
take part in, a new work, but to be fellow-
actors in a great historical event, to assist at
the inauguration of a new era in music, appeared
to have created a spirit of camaraderie which
made itself felt wherever you went and gradually
grew into a sort of contagious intoxication.
Introduction did not seem to be needed for the
opening of a conversation between strangers 7 .
Ladies were addressed with " Freisliche Frau"
pretty waitresses became " Niedliche Nicker"
every aged cab-horse was " Grane mein Ross"
and the air was fairly ringing with " Wallala
weiala weias " and " Hoyotohos"

Many a jolly outing I had during the week
in the company of my dear friend, the genial
Hofkapellmeister Hermann Levi, a charming,
amiable man, full of wit and humour. He
had with him a younger brother, who, some
years before, had embraced Christianity and
taken the name of Lindeck, whilst Levi had
clung to the faith of his fathers his own had
been a Rabbi in Karlsruhe and to his Jewish
name. During one of these excursions a young
lady of our party, a little indiscreetly perhaps,
had asked him how it was that he, Hermann
Levi, had a brother by the name of Lindeck.



ix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 135

" Well, you see," said Levi, " my name was
originally Lindeck too, but I changed it to
Levi."

The moment, however, you entered the
theatre, you seemed transformed. Frivolity
was left outside. Quietly the people took their
seats, and what little there had been of sub-
dued talking was hushed into a solemn silence
just before the commencement of the music.

From act to act, from performance to per-
formance, the excitement of the vast audience
grew. In Rheingold the wonderful impersona-
tion of Loge by Vogl; in the Walkilre that
incomparable trio of artists : Albert Niemann
as Siegmund, Betz as Wotan, Amalie Friedrich
Materna as Briinnhilde ; in Siegfried the manly,
youthful figure of Unger, the masterly study
of the cunning Mime, by Schlosser ; in the
Gdtterddmmerung the noble personality of Gura
as Gunther, to mention a few only who that
was present at this feast could ever forget it ?

To me the culminating point of the whole
was the Death of Siegfried. Alone from the
point of scenic beauty I have never seen
anything to compare with it. As the body of
Siegfried was placed on the shield and slowly
carried shoulder-high along the hilly, wooded
banks of the Rhine to the passionate strains
of that stupendous Funeral March, the moon



136 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES ix

breaking through the clouds just at the appear-
ance of the beautiful Love-motif, the impression
was simply overwhelming. Wagner's concep-
tion of the music drama as a perfect blending
of the three arts, poetry, music, and painting,
here seemed to have had its consummate
realisation. After the last note of the great
trilogy had died away and the seemingly
minute-long, awed silence of the deeply moved
audience given place to an outburst of frantic
enthusiasm, amid which Wagner was called
again and again, until he delivered himself of
that historical speech containing the famous
and at the time much-discussed phrase, " Now
it rests with you whether or no we shall have
a German Art," I had to walk around the
theatre in the dark for a while, quite by my-
self, before I felt like returning to reality and
realism by joining my friends at supper.

The end of the year found me again in
Petrograd, where, among other concerts, I had
to take part in the performance of Rubin-
stein's Paradise Lost. To see Rubinstein
conduct one of his works was to see him at
his best, not as a musician, but as a man and
friend ; that is to say, not because he was a
particularly good conductor, but because he
was happiest when finding himself acclaimed
as a composer. Needless to say, his continuous



ix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 137

triumphs as a pianoforte virtuoso could not
help being a source of keenest satisfaction to
him, but it was the unfading laurels of a
composer his heart and soul longed for, and
toward the end of his life it had become an
actual grief to him that his larger works, the
oratorios and operas, had not been received with
the favour he had hoped for not even achieved
the momentary success in which the sanguine
artistic nature is often inclined to hail the dawn
of ultimate popularity. I like to remember
Rubinstein as he was that night in Petrograd,
smiling and proud and happy as the vast
audience attentively followed the performance
of his work and, at the end, shouted and waved
their approval. I sang the part of Lucifer,
which suited me well. Indeed in later years
I seemed to have acquired quite a reputation
for impersonating that fallen angel in some
form or other. The Mephisto in Berlioz's Faust
came next ; then the Lucifer in Sullivan's Golden
Legend ; then Boito's Mefistofele; then the
Satan in Stanford's Eden ; and only two years
ago my old friend, Sir Alexander Mackenzie,
wrote to me : " I am at work on a sacred piece
... all I may say is that c Satan ' (always a
popular gentleman) is in it, and I only wish
you would add this one to the several Lucifers
it has been your lot to perform."



138 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES ix

The Petrograd season of that year was
rendered particularly brilliant by the appear-
ance at the Imperial Opera of the incomparable
Adelina Patti. I heard her as Rosina in the
Barber of Seville, a part in which I think no
other singer has quite approached her yet.
Not only was her singing absolutely perfect,
but she also acted bewitchingly. When some
years later, at a State Concert at Buckingham
Palace, I had the great pleasure of singing with
her, her voice seemed to have lost nothing of
its rare beauty and charm, her vocal art to
be still as perfect as human achievement can
ever hope to be ; and when, later still ? her
annual concert at the Royal Albert Hall
formed for many years a regular feature of
each succeeding season, it was in no spirit of
raillery, but with a sincere sense of admiration
for her wonderful capacity to remain young
that I wrote on a picture post-card representing
the Royal Albert Hall-

Look at this building tall and weighty :
Here Patti '11 sing when she is eighty.

This was one of a dozen or so post-cards of
London, the pictures of which I supplemented
by a doggerel and sent to the daughter of a
Dutch friend shortly before that young lady's
first visit to London, with the sights of which



ix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 139

I wanted her to become familiar. I remember
only one other of those cards, with a picture
of the Mansion House, under which I had
written :

Here, even in the darkest night,
You'll always find an Israelight.

But I am anticipating. I have not arrived
in England yet, so will hurry back to Russia,
thereby completing the record of the year which
preceded that important event in my life ; a
year, moreover, which was made memorable
by an experience which I am sure has fallen
to the lot of but few people: owing to the
difference of twelve days between the Russian
calendar and that of the rest of Europe I was
cheated out of both Christmas and New Year.

My last engagement in Petrograd happened
to be three days before Christmas, and when,
having left Russia the morning following, I
arrived in Germany, the New Year was over !
Query : Did I lose or gain these twelve days ?

In the autumn of 1876 I had received a
letter from Mr. Arthur Chappell, the director
of the Monday and Saturday Popular Concerts
in London, famous as the Monday and Saturday
" Pops," inviting me, at the instance of my
old friend, Mrs. Moscheles, to sing at two of



140 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES ix

these concerts after the New Year. I joyfully
accepted, and now the time had come for
that momentous journey. I made my pre-
parations for a stay of a few weeks, little
dreaming that England, almost from the day
of my landing, would be Home to me for the
rest of my life.



X



IT was February when I arrived in London,
two days before my twenty-seventh birthday
and three before my first appearance in
England. My old friend Felix Semon, then
attached to the Golden Square Throat Hospital
and in only a slightly lesser measure to music,
surprised me by holding out a welcoming hand
at Cannon Street Station, whence I completed
the rest of the journey in his company, the
train ploughing its way, as it were, through
an ocean of little brick and stone houses.
Semon's eyes seemed to ask, " Well, what do
you think of it ? " But I was too bewildered
for words, and when at last I found myself in
the midst of the din and bustle, the com-
motion and the turmoil of Charing Cross
terminus, I had a dim sense of having come to
the capital not of England but of the world.
What impressed me particularly from the first
was the order in the apparent chaos. Every-
body seemed to know his business exactly, to
mind that and nobody else's, and to do it

141



142 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x

without hurrying, without shouting, in a
thoroughly efficacious manner. The clearing
of my luggage through the Customs was a
matter of a few seconds, and soon one of those
" growlers " of affectionate memory leisurely
conveyed us to No. 6 Chandos Street, Cavendish
Square, where Semon had engaged rooms for
me, he himself then occupying the ground-
floor of the house, and the genial glow and
warmth of the first English hearth-fire that
night went straight to my heart.

Being of a rather domesticated disposition,
I had already commenced to grow tired of
spending so much of my time in railway
carriages and hotels, as had been the case for
some time past, and the amount of work I
found to do in London and the provinces
for after my first appearance offers of engage-
ments for concerts came in great numbers,
weeks, even months ahead, the ever-growing
kindness of the English public, the many
friends I had the good fortune of making, left
little room for doubt that settling in London
would mean settling in life, or, rather, that
if I wanted to settle in life, this would be the
time, and London, to which I felt myself
irresistibly drawn, the place. To tell the truth,
much as I loved dear old Breslau, beautiful
Silesia, and, on the whole, Germany and its



x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 143

people as far as I knew it, its music, its poetry,
the sentiments I harboured towards those
who ruled in the land in which I happened to
be born of parents with not a drop of Teutonic
blood in their veins had ever been far from
anything like filial affection. Already in my
early school days I could not help noticing
the difference in the treatment, by the teachers,
of the sons of rich or titled parents from that
of humbler-born boys, who were looked down
upon by the former, particularly if their
fathers happened to be army officers, in a
most irritating and humiliating manner. The
obvious predominance of the military classes,
the insufferable arrogance, indeed, of all officials,
seemed to me highly objectionable. Bitterly,
too, I resented the contempt in which the
Jews were held in Prussia, evidences of which
could almost daily be found in the Jew-baiting
columns of the Schlesische Zeitung, Breslau's
premier newspaper, and I remember how
eagerly and enviously, and almost incredul-
ously, I listened to the gentle voice of my
first teacher of English, a sweet young English-
woman, Miss Selina Sexton, governess in the
family of a cousin of mine in Breslau, as she
would tell me of her lovely country, where
there was no position, civil or military, Jews
could not attain to; where the ruling classes,



144 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x

from Royalty downwards, were really the
servants of the people ; where talent and merit
were the " open sesame " into the palaces
of the great and mighty. I was very young
then, barely sixteen, and the seed thus planted
in the receptive soil of my heart was made to
swell and grow by the second teacher of English
it was my good fortune to find a few years
later in Berlin Miss Archer, sister of the late
James Archer, the portrait-painter. That ex-
cellent lady had been called to Berlin by the
Empress Frederick, then Crown Princess, to
assist her in the founding and managing of
the Lyceum and similar institutions by which
that large-hearted Royal lady sought to im-
prove the education and usefulness of the
young women of Germany. Miss Archer was
another specimen of gentle, charming English
womanhood, and when, from what she too had
to say of her beloved country, I found that
none of Miss Sexton's statements and stories
had been inaccurate or exaggerated, I began
to pray fervently for the day to come when I
should cross the Channel and set foot on that
Earthly Paradise of my dreams British soil.

Well, that day did come ; and as I write
these lines forty years later in my sweet
Highland Home, now and then, through the
windows of my study, " lifting mine eyes unto



x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 145

the hills " I recall with a forgiving smile the
reproachful question put to me by a grieved
relative, " How I could have renounced the land
of my birth, which had given me my ' BildungS ''
Did the dear woman really believe that
Germany had the monopoly of that precious
article, and that the unhappy man or woman
born outside the Fatherland was doomed for
ever to remain without it ?

Did Milton and Shakespeare write for the
English, Racine and Moliere for the French,
Schiller, who in his glorious " Ode to Joy '

sings

Oh, embrace now, all ye millions,
Here's a kiss to all the world.
Brothers, o'er yon azure fold
Is a loving Father's dwelling

and Goethe, Bach and Beethoven for the
Germans only ?

The artist's home is the Universe, which
indeed should be Everyman's, since we are all
the children of one Father.

I shall never forget the glowing happiness
of those first days in England. I was utterly
fascinated by English manners, English life,
English country, English Sundays, even English
fogs. For the young people of the present
generation it will be difficult to picture a



146 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x

London as it was forty years ago, without
electric light, without telephone, without motor
buses and taxicabs, without Sunday concerts,
without Picture Palaces a quiet, dignified,
beautiful city with a decided character of its
own, as unlike Paris or Vienna or Petrograd
as the Englishman is unlike a Frenchman,
an Austrian, or a Russian. Electricity seems
to be a sort of leveller of national distinctions.
The old horse-omnibuses had two seats on the
driver's right and left, and to climb into one
of those seats at nine o'clock in the morning,
say at Netting Hill Gate, and drive leisurely-
hurry appears to be a recent invention in an
almost continuously straight line to the City
and see the thousands and thousands of men
go, like bees into a hive, to their business
there, a restless sea of top-hats, was to realise
the greatness, the solidity of the capital of this
vast empire.

To sit on an afternoon in one of those green
chairs in Hyde Park and watch the long pro-
cession of duchesses and countesses as they
drove past in their state - carriages, with a
huge, fat, clean-shaven coachman in a periwig
perched high upon a broad seat resembling
the thing they put on a circus-horse for a
fair short-skirted lady to pirouette upon, and
two powdered, galooned footmen, standing like



x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 147

statues on a footboard behind, holding on to
straps attached to the back of the hood of the
carriage, and exhibiting four irreproachable,
white - silk - stockinged calves to the admiring
gaze of the populace, was like having a series
of tableaux vivants pass before one's eyes,
illustrating a Dickens or Thackeray novel or
to a more youthful vision some fairy tale.

The morning after my arrival was spent in
delivering some of the letters of introduction
I had brought with me, as the gratifying result
of one of which I already on my first Sunday
I had arrived on a Friday had the great
pleasure and privilege of meeting, at a dinner-
party in Kensington, the famous Alma Tadema,
whose " Vintage Festival," only recently ex-
hibited in Berlin, had created quite a sensation
there. Crowds of people could always be seen
standing before the picture, admiring it and,
puzzled by the name of " Alma," wondering
whether the painter was a woman or a man.

Well, here he was, sitting opposite me at
the table, a man if ever there was one, powerful
in body and mind, spirited, full of vigour,
abounding in stories and manifestly happy in
the consciousness of ever-growing success and
fame ; happy too, evidently, in the proud
possession of a young and lovely wife, the rare
charm of whose gentle presence enchanted all



148 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x

who came in contact with her ; she also was
a painter, and that of no mean merit, though
such was her modesty that when, after her
much-lamented death in 1909, Tadema ar-
ranged a loan exhibition of her work, the
quantity as well as the high artistic worth and
excellence of her paintings, drawings, and
studies came as a surprise even to her most
intimate friends.

I was greatly attracted by the delightful
couple, and with gratification recall tokens of
goodwill toward me on their part, as the
natural consequence of which I soon found
myself a frequent guest in their beautiful house
near the Regent's Park ; and, in later years, in
that larger and more magnificent, though
never more genial one in Grove End Road,
where they had weekly receptions on Monday
afternoons and Tuesday evenings, the latter
generally preceded by a charmingly intimate
dinner-party.

From time to time special invitations were
issued for the Tuesday evening receptions, and
then, in that uniquely beautiful studio, the
most celebrated musicians of the day, players
and singers, happening to be in town, could be
heard, giving of their best to a rare assembly
of men and women prominent in all branches
of science, literature, and the arts. On some



x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 149

particular occasions, like the birthdays of
members of the family, the entertainment
would perhaps be of a more frivolous, though
hardly less appreciated kind, performances, for
instance, of prestidigitators or dancers, or else
consist of dramatic presentations among which
with particular pleasure I recall that of a
charming play, One Way of Love, by Tadema' s
elder daughter Laurence, who herself took a
part in its performance. Those were un-
forgettable evenings. Enjoyment was written
on the faces of all present, not the least so on
those of host and hostess, than whom none
more genial and generous could be imagined.

Being himself of a happy, joyous nature,
Tadema loved to see himself surrounded by
happy people. On the other hand, being him-
self very strong, mentally and physically, he
had perhaps less sympathy with the weak than
his innate sense of justice and his kindness of
heart would otherwise have kindled in him.
That sense of justice he once afforded me an
opportunity of admiring, which I think will be
deemed worth recording as an illustration of his
character.

He and Lady Tadema were my guests at
Allt-na-criche, my Scottish home, in the autumn
of 1905. We had been on a little stroll before
luncheon. The day was glorious ; one of



150 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x

those wonderful, clear, crisp sunny days of
which one in the Highlands of Scotland seems
worth a dozen anywhere else. We were re-
turning home by way of Loch Alvey, upon
which, after having climbed through the woods
for some little time, we came quite on a sudden.
There it was, lying below us at the foot of the
heather-clad, pine- and birch-studded hills, of
the deepest steel-blue, bathed in sunshine,
with the light azure of the cloudless sky above
it, a feast of colour, exquisitely beautiful.

The moment we had come in sight of it
Tadema stopped short, exclaiming in a sort of
dubious, questioning voice the single word
" Hullo ! ?: and refusing to move on. I
noticed his silence when after a while we
resumed our walk. He hardly spoke at all,
and when at last we had arrived at home,
Tadema, though it was close on luncheon-time,
sat down to write a letter which a few minutes
later he handed me with the enjoinder to be
sure and see it posted that afternoon.

Noticing the address of " Alfred East, Esq.,
A.R.A." on the envelope, I said, " I bet you,
Tadema, I know what's in this letter." And
then that slow, amused, contented smile we
all knew so well stole over his features, and he
told me I was right. Tadema, years before,
on seeing one of East's pictures of a similar



x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 151

lake-scene, had expressed to the painter very
likely rather decidedly his belief in the utter
impossibility of the surface of a lake being of
so very much deeper a shade of blue than the
sky it reflected. To-day he had seen it with
his own eyes, and the letter to Alfred East
contained the acknowledgment of his error of
years ago. Such was the man. " But then,"
he said, " I have never been in the Scottish
Highlands before ! "

The house at which I first met Tadema was
that of Mr. Wertheimer, father-in-law of Dr.
Max Schlesinger, the representative in London
of the Cologne Gazette, politically then Germany's
premier paper. Dr. Schlesinger, a highly
cultured, most genial, witty man, who numbered
among his friends Freiligrath, Gottfried
Kinkel, Karl Blind, and other political refugees
of the year '48, was eminently fitted for the
responsible position which among other duties
imposed upon him that of entertaining. He
and Mrs. Schlesinger, who survived her husband
nearly a quarter of a century Dr. Schlesinger
died in 1881 were " At Home " every Friday
evening, when their comfortable house in that
once fashionable quarter around Russell Square
was thrown open to a cosmopolitan and most
interesting crowd of people. Everybody who



152 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x

was anybody seemed to go every Friday night
to " the Schlesingers," and one told of the
actual existence of a lady who, on hearing
" Goethe " mentioned as the writer to whom
W. S. Gilbert in the announcement of a new
play of his, Gretchen, had acknowledged himself
indebted for certain parts of it, was said to
have asked, " Goethe Goethe who is he ?
Does he go to the Schlesingers ? "

This evidently was not the one who, accord-
ing to my friend Donald Francis Tovey, looked
down with pity on another female because,
in her opinion, that lady showed her literary
ignorance by pronouncing the name of
Germany's greatest poet to rhyme with " thirty "
instead of with " floweih " !

In fulfilment of a promise given at the
Diisseldorf Music Festival in 1875 to Walter
Broadwood, one of my first visits now was to
the offices and show-rooms of the famous
house of which he was one of the heads. The
business of the Broadwoods was then carried
on in three adjoining old houses situated in
Great Pulteney Street, a thoroughfare in the
midst of that labyrinth of little back alleys
east of Regent Street between Piccadilly Circus
and Oxford Street. These houses, from cellar
to top story, were filled with pianos large
and small, and I was struck not only by their



x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 153

quantity and variety, but particularly by the
size and appearance of the " Concert Grands,"
which seemed to me longer than and altogether
different from any I had ever seen before.
Nearly all of these were built of oak, coated, like
old violins, with a fine golden varnish which
retained the colour and the grain of the wood.
The joints of the keyboard case were hidden by
bands of polished brass, fastened by innumer-
able little brass screws, and the lid was joined
to the piano by finely designed massive brass
hinges stretching almost across its whole width.

These instruments are seen no longer, at
least not in this country, and I wonder what
can have become of them, as they seemed to
be made to last for ever. May be they have
found their way into parts of the vast empire
across the seas, there, in the durability and
strength of which the wood they are made of is
the emblem, to bear witness to the staunch
solidity of the Mother country.

To me their memory is closely linked with
that of dear old St. James's Hall, and those
unforgettable Monday and Saturday " Pops,"
and if I were living in London, I'd now and
then steal into Broadwoods' new premises,
to have, in the little concert-room there, an
affectionate look at the dear old uncomfort-
able, long, narrow, worn-out, green-upholstered



154 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x

benches, with the numbers of the seats tied
over the straight back with red tape, which the
Broadwoods acquired when the venerable hall
was pulled down in 1905. In spirit I even now
sit down on one of these benches in the empty
hall, and, like the old Count in The Ruined
Mill, close my eyes. . . . Around me all stirs
into life again : There is the fine old hall,
filled in every corner, crowded even to the
platform ; the faithful Saunders is placing the
music on the four stands and adjusting the
chairs before them ; the familiar attendants,
a pile of programme-books in their left arms
and waving a single one in their uplifted right
hands, are walking up and down the aisles
calling out, " Programme and book of words "
then a momentary hush the stately Joachim
emerges from the recess on the left, followed
by the modest Ries, the solemn Strauss, the
gentle Piatti. They gravely acknowledge the
round of applause that greets their appearance,
and take their seats before the desks ; a final,
clandestine reassurance as to being in tune
together, then a silence as of the grave all
over the house, and the four beautiful stringed
instruments in rare perfection pour forth
sounds that seem to come straight from heaven.
So great is the spell that it cannot be broken
even by an occasional distant jingle of castanets



x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 155

and tambourines faintly floating into the room
as below, at the Christy Minstrels, a door is
opened. . . . But surely that brutal noise
now striking my ears in the midst of the
divine Beethoven Adagio is not that of either
tambourine or castanet ?. . . ." Toot- toot . . .
toot "... a taxi ! I am awake, and pensively
walk out into busy Bond Street, ready, like
the old Count, to shed a silent tear of affec-
tionate remembrance. . . .

*

But back now to 1877 and Great Pulteney
Street, and my first visit there to the Broad-
woods. At first it was Walter himself who,
most genial of cicerones, conducted me over
the premises, and well I remember his amused
smile- of gratification and pride as he sees me
halting before a frame containing, under glass,
a huge, beautifully polished disk of wood, and
reading the legend attached to it :

Specimen of the finest Honduras Mahogany, in
regard to figure & quality, ever grown :

THIS SINGLE TREE

contained 390 Cubic Feet, Broker's measure,

(i.e. 4684 Ft. of inch) & was bought unopened by

Messrs. Broad wood for the manufacture

of Pianofortes, at the price of

1781 : : 6.

Supposed to be the most valuable Tree in the World ;
& after it had been opened, it could have been sold
for more than 2000.



156 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x

" What a country I have come to," I thought
in awe and wonder "where they pay 1700
for a tree to make pianofortes of ! 9:

After a while my guide was called away on
business. Before taking leave of me he took
me downstairs into a little private office,
introducing me there to the occupant of it, in
whose charge he left me for the rest of my
visit. I shall always bless him for this intro-
duction, for it marked the beginning of a
friendship than which I have valued none
more highly. I honestly believe a gentler,
kinder, sweeter man than Alfred James Hipkins
never lived. Nor a more modest one. For
who, seeing him in his office at the Broadwoods,
whose rare privilege it was to profit by his
faithful and devoted services for more than
threescore of years, up to the end of his life
in 1903, could have suspected in the simple,
silent man the learned author of several
standard books on various branches of the
science and history of music, and an unrivalled
authority on old keyboard instruments, on
which he himself was a most accomplished
and graceful performer, and of which he
possessed several fine specimens ?

To leave the giddy world and repair to the
delightful home of the Hipkinses in Warwick
Gardens, there, in the genial company of



x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 157

mutual friends upon a Sunday afternoon to
partake of the spirit of simplicity, love, and
harmony prevailing in the little household,
consisting of father and mother and daughter
and son, to listen to and join in the lively con-
versation from which anything even approach-
ing gossip was ever absent, to see the look of
supreme content and happiness in our dear
host's face as, after a week's toil, he would sit
down before his beloved harpsichord or clavi-
chord and play us a Bach or Scarlatti in
masterly fashion, has been among the purest
joys of my life. Dear Hipkins ! Not many
indeed are the men of whom, as of thee, it
could be said in the words of the Song Celestial :

Fearlessness, singleness of soul, the will

Always to strive for wisdom, opened hand

And governed appetites ;

And love of lonely study ; humbleness,

Uprightness, heed to injure naught which lives,

Truthfulness, slowness unto wrath, a mind

That lightly letteth go what others prize ;

And equanimity, and charity, and tenderness

Towards all that suffer ; a contented heart,

Modest and grave, with manhood nobly mixed

With patience, fortitude and purity ;

An unrevengeful spirit ; never given

To rate itself too high

Such be the signs of him whose feet are set

On that fair path which leads to heavenly truth.



XI



QUITE a good many houses there were the
doors of which, after my first appearance at the
Monday Popular Concert on February 19, most
hospitably opened to me, and where, at regular
" At Home " evenings or on occasions to which
special invitations were issued, the best music
could be heard, made by the best artists and
listened to by more or less the same circle
of friends. Notable among such were those of
the George Lewises in Portland Place and
the Henry Joachims in Kensington, the latter
the headquarters during his annual visit to
England of Henry's brother Joseph, who not
unfrequently would make his charming hostess
and sister-in-law, the daughter of the composer
Henry Smart, proud and happy by leading a
quartet or playing a solo in her drawing-room
before a small company of friends the ideal
way of making and enjoying chamber music.
Rare treats were these. At whatever of such
assemblies I happened to find myself during
these first months, I was invariably asked to

158



xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 159

contribute to the programme by singing a few
songs, which I gladly did.

I sometimes wonder if perhaps the distance
from which we look at events that happened
more than a generation ago, lends a particular
lustre to them or at any rate alters to some
degree the impression they made at the time.
There certainly was a charm in those informal
weekly meetings of friends at the houses of
friends, which nowadays is not so generally
found. One seemed to enjoy such occasions
at least so it appears to me now in a more
innocent, simple manner. Music was Music,
Painting for at all such gatherings these two
arts were almost equally represented by their
most eminent exponents was Painting, and if
people differed in regard to them, the differences
were of degree rather than of principle. Excite-
ment, irritation, violence as they exist in art-
circles at present, were almost entirely absent
in these " good old days."

The number of houses to which I was asked
grew from week to week, and, apace with it,
that of my friends and my delight in it all.
" England " seemed to be the title of a new
book of my life, the opening chapters of which
were wonderfully interesting and promising ;
what an American girl would call " perfectly
fasc'nating."



160 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi

Every new dinner-party meant to me the
making of the acquaintance of at least one
famous man ; and that at Airlie Lodge on
Campden Hill, the town house then of Lord
and Lady Airlie, was no exception to the rule,
the famous man on that occasion being no
other than James McNeill Whistler, doubtlessly
the most talked-about artist of the day. He
was the guest of the evening, and in that
capacity caused much amusement already in
absentia, for he did not arrive until some time
after we had sat down to dinner without him,
having waited fully fifteen minutes even beyond
the then still usual quart d'heure de grace.

When at last he did shoot into the dining-
room, all of a sudden bursting upon the hostess
with what I thought the loudest laugh I had
ever heard, it was very much like Mephisto's
first appearance in Berlioz's Faust the zigzag
flash of trombones there, on the single fortis-
simo clash of the cymbals, being no whit more
effective than Whistler's Cyclopean laughter.

All through the evening he kept our small
company in the highest of spirits by the truly
dazzling fireworks of his wit.

Fortunately there was no reception following
the dinner. I quite informally sang a few
songs, and was no little delighted and, I confess,
flattered when Whistler, on our going home,



xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 161

proposed it was a fine autumn night to
stroll along with me, and, before parting, asked
me to one of his famous Sunday mid-day
" breakfasts " at the White House, into which
he had only lately moved, and where to those
breakfasts sometimes as many as a dozen of
his friends of both sexes would sit down and
partake, among other good things, of " buck-
wheat cakes with maple-syrup," one of our
delightful host's favourite American specialities
which he was very proud of having introduced
to British palates.

My acquaintance with another American
delicacy I likewise owe to Whistler. I re-
member meeting him one day in the Hay-
market when he told me the secret of a great
discovery of his : Scott's in Coventry Street
had just commenced importing the Blue-point
Oyster! . . . "My dear Henschel . . . delicious
. . . sweeter than the natives . . . only a
shilling the dozen." . . . And putting his arm
in mine, he took me to Scott's then and there,
where, in one of those dear old narrow boxes
with wooden benches, of which I fear very few
have survived in London ale-houses, we had
a regular feast on the seductive bivalves to the
accompaniment of I will not say how many
pints of stout.



162 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi

Opposite Airlie Lodge there was a gate,
nearly always hospitably open, leading to
another house which I soon found myself
favoured by frequently being bidden to : Moray
Lodge, the beautiful home I had almost said
country - place, so little did the lovely and
extensive grounds suggest the vicinity of any-
thing like a pavement of the Arthur Lewises,
a most delightful couple of artists ; for though
a merchant, Arthur Lewis was a painter of
no mean merit, especially as regards landscape,
and a man the quiet attractiveness of whose
personality may be gauged from the fact that
he had succeeded in alluring from her allegi-
ance to the stage no less captivating an actress
than Kate, the eldest daughter of the famous
house of Terry, who at the time of her marriage
to Lewis had already, so I was told, attained
to an extraordinary degree of popularity not-
withstanding her youth. Music, Painting,
Science, Literature, the Drama, Diplomacy-
all of these you could be sure to find worthily
and numerously represented at those extremely
interesting and enjoyable receptions, dinners,
and garden-parties for which Moray Lodge
and its charming host and hostess were re-
nowned. Tempi passati alas but affection-
ately, with the rest,



xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 163

Deposited upon the silent shore
Of memory.



If I was deeply impressed by English life
generally there was one institution in particular
which almost overawed me (a sensation which
in some measure has survived to this day),
and that was " the butler." I could un-
flinchingly face the powder of an army of
liveried footmen, but when it came to the
impenetrable solemnity of the butler as he
confronted me in dress- suit and white necktie
and with a clean-shaven face as blank as his
shirt-front, I was utterly nonplussed, stupefied,
annihilated. I felt like a worm, and as such,
during my first days, would gladly have
" turned " from many a door without carrying
out my daring design of knocking or ringing.
Few doors there were at which I bore that
ordeal oftener and more willingly than that of
the house No. 35 Wimpole Street, the residence
of the famous surgeon, Sir Henry Thompson,
whose wife I had the good fortune of soon
counting among my dearest friends.

In her youth her name was Kate Loder
Lady Thompson had been a pianist of no mean
merit, having played with considerable success
at the Philharmonic Concerts, at that time a
test of efficiency and a passport to fame.



164 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi

After her marriage to the yet unknown and
poor young physician she had worked hard for
years from morn till night as a teacher of the
pianoforte, traversing London from one end to
the other in all kinds of weather, doubtlessly
thereby impairing her health which already
at the time when I first knew her had begun
to fail her. But when gradually she had to
abandon all hope of ever touching her beloved
piano again, and the creeping paralysis attacked
limb after limb until she could move none any
longer and had to be carried in a chair and,
during the last years, even fed like a helpless
child, her faith, her courage never forsook her.
Her loving soul rose victorious above the ailings,
the sufferings of the body. Never once and
it was my privilege to be with her very fre-
quently did I hear a word of complaint from
her lips. Being unable to make music herself
any longer, she found her happiness in befriend-
ing, encouraging, teaching, supporting young
people, who, in her opinion, had sufficient talent
to justify their hope of making efficiency in
some branch of music the object of their
ambition. The friendship of Lady Thompson
was one of my richest possessions, as her sweet
smile, her gentle motherly voice are among my
most precious memories.

With wonderful rapidity I found myself



xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 165

in the midst of the whirl of London society,
and it was with considerable regret that, even
for a few weeks only, I quitted the scene
of what certainly had been most successful
activity I remember, for instance, one single
day on which I had three professional engage-
ments, one in the afternoon and two in the
evening in order to sing at the Nether-Rhenish
Music Festival which in that year, 1877, took
place at Cologne and was particularly dis-
tinguished by the first performance in Germany
of Verdi's great Manzoni Requiem under the
conductorship of the composer. Many German
musicians at that time affected rather to look
down on the Italian maestro with a sort of
condescending superiority, wondering how in
the world Ferdinand Hiller, the conductor-in-
chief of the Festival and an excellent musician,
could have chosen for performance at one of
their classical institutions a work by the author
of II Trovatore, Rigoletto, Traviata, and other
operas of street-organ popularity. Hiller, how-
ever, knew what he was doing. Already at
the first rehearsal Verdi's fine musicianship and
powerful personality made a great impression
upon chorus, orchestra, and soloists, of which
latter I had the honour of being one. From
hour to hour we felt more and more strongly
the fascinating influence of a master - mind,



166 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi

and both the beautiful, deeply felt work and
its genial creator at the end of the excellent
performance Lilli Lehmann was the soprano-
met with a most enthusiastic reception. I
had been particularly gratified by Verdi's great
kindness in repeatedly inviting me to breakfast
with him at his hotel. His cordial ways and
unassuming manners, his peculiar charm of
conversation when he did speak for as a
rule he was remarkably silent for an Italian
affected me quite extraordinarily. At one
of the miscellaneous concerts of the Festival
I sang my songs from the Trompeter von
Sdkkingen, which had been published the year
before, and Verdi the next morning greatly
gratified me by asking me to send him the
songs and perhaps some other of my composi-
tions. His answer to my question to what
address I should send them was most character-
istic. Without the slightest suspicion of con-
ceit or affectation he said, " Oh adressez
simplement ' Maestro Verdi, Italia.' !

Altogether the Cologne Festival of that year
was of a somewhat international character, for
Spain, too, was represented by one of her most
famous sons, the matchless Pablo de Sarasate.
His interpretation of the Mendelssohn Concerto
came to German ears like something of a revela-
tion, creating a veritable furore, and indeed



xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 167

I doubt if in lusciousness of tone, crystalline
clearness of execution, refinement, and grace
that performance has been or ever will be
surpassed. Alone the way he took that little
A natural, the fifth note of the Andante theme,
without letting the string touch the finger-
board " sur le touche " I think is the technical
term for it gave one a thrill of artistic joy
never to be forgotten.

From Cologne I hurried back to London as
fast -as I could, full of eager anticipation of my
first " London season," for although there was,
as now, great activity during the winter in
the musical life of the Provinces, what, music-
ally as well as socially, was called ' the "
London season did not in those years commence
until after Easter. Before that, the only place
in London where you could hear good orchestral
music was really outside of it, viz. at the
Crystal Palace, where the excellent August
Manns every Saturday afternoon during the
winter provided a wholesome and splendidly
prepared fare of classical and modern music,
being aided in this pioneer work of educa-
tion by the enthusiastic George Grove whose
analytical descriptions in the programme books
of the chief works to be performed were of
the greatest value. In London proper classical
music was restricted to the 'afore - mentioned



168 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi

Monday and Saturday popular chamber music
concerts at the St. James's Hall. Altogether
musical London of 1877 was very different
from that of to-day. The names of Hubert
Parry, Alexander Mackenzie, Frederic Cowen,
Charles Villiers Stanford as composers were
as yet little known, though their bearers had
already commenced to come forward with
an occasional composition, whilst of Edward
Elgar's not a single note had been published.
On the programmes of the Philharmonic
Society's concerts, conducted then by Mr.,
afterwards Sir William, Cusins, there could
still be found a goodly number of florid arias
from Bellini's, Donizetti's, Rossini's operas, and
the list of members of the orchestra contained
many a " Herr," " Monsieur," and " Signor."
Music was still one of the things which to
a great extent had to be imported. A wide
and lucrative field of activity for instrumental
virtuosos and singers there was during the
spring and summer season in the many concerts
with which rich people were wont to entertain
their guests after dinner, and it was at one
of these private soirees that, the very first
year, I had a rather interesting and exciting
experience. The scene was one of those palatial
residences in Belgrave Square. Two operatic
prima donnas, England's foremost tenor, two



xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 169

foreign virtuosos, a violinist and a 'cellist, and
myself were to go through a long programme
of music, commencing at 11 P.M. There was
leading into the ball-room, which by the
temporary erection of a platform had been
converted into a music - room, a little ante-
chamber, reached by the back stairs, which
served as a green-room. This we caged lions
paced impatiently up and down until our
respective turns came and the faithful Mr.
Saunders, the representative of ChappelPs,
who managed the affair, opened the doors into
the arena to let us loose. We had just heard
the applause following the customary high
C natural of the prima donna's final cadenza
when that poor lady re-entered the green-
room in a state of great excitement, nervous-
ness, and indignation, exclaiming on the point
of tears, "It is too awful, they don't pay the
slightest attention to the music, they talk and
giggle it's horrid," and so on. " You don't
mean to say," I asked poor innocent me
" you don't mean to say they talked aloud
whilst you sang ? '' and being informed that
such indeed was the deplorable fact of the
case, my mind was made up. Soon my turn
came : a recitative and air from a Handel
opera. As usual I was my own accompanist.
After striking a few forte chords by way of



170 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi

prelude I began to sing. For a few bars there
was silence, and then, at first from far away
down by the door at the end of the room where
it opened into another, came sounds of talking
and tittering. Count Beust, a distinguished
diplomatist and amateur musician, turned
round he sat in the first row with a few
sharp and solemn " Psht psht, ..." but
hardly to any purpose. The talking and titter-
ing grew louder and louder, and so did my
voice. No use. With a few " bangs " I im-
provised an abrupt ending to the aria, in-
wardly apologizing to the shades of Handel.
Amid the applause of the audience, the major-
ity of which only by that applause realized
that something in the way of singing had
happened, I withdrew to the green-room, took
my hat and coat, and in spite of the anxious
entreaties of poor Mr. Saunders to, for goodness'
sake, stay and do my second turn, left the
room and the house. A few days later Mr.
Chappell, who had already commenced to be
what he remained to the end, my very good
and valued friend, sent me a cheque with a
letter he had received from the Viscountess at
whose party the incident had happened, in
which the lady reproached him for having
sent her so rude a man as " Herr Henschel,"
and enclosing cheque for only half that gentle-



xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 171

man's fee, since he had only half fulfilled his
part of the bargain. I begged Mr. Chappell
to allow me to answer that letter myself, and
that night, with the aid of a dictionary to
my grammar I thought I could trust composed
a very nice, polite letter to the Viscountess,
telling her how unaccustomed I was to such
treatment of art and artists and sincerely
regretting the cause of, as well as apologizing
for, the apparent rudeness of my conduct.
" With many thanks," I concluded, " I beg
herewith to return the cheque, as I could not
think of accepting a fee for my unsuccessful
attempt to interrupt the pleasant conversation."

Much to my astonishment and, I confess,
no less to my gratification the very next post
brought me a most charming letter from the
Viscountess, containing a cheque for the original
amount and explaining the annoyance by the
fact that, being an invalid, she was obliged to
remain reclining on a couch during the evening
and was thus prevented from moving among
her guests and enjoining their silence. A week
later I sang at another of those occasions,
at Dudley House, when the programme was
headed by a scroll bearing the significant
legend, " II piii grand omaggio alia musica e
il silenzio."

This novel experience of Belgrave Square



172 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi

was soon followed by another, nowadays, I
trust, quite as rare as the one just related.
Coming home one evening I found in my rooms
a large parcel of modern English songs and
ballads sent me by a firm of publishers,
and accompanied by a letter in which I was
asked what my fee would be for singing any
of these songs or ballads in public. Looking
at them I found them one and all I am speak-
ing of quite forty years ago of the cheapest,
commonest stuff, the most sentimental, inane
rubbish imaginable. I was much puzzled,
indeed had no idea what could be meant by
the letter. At last I sat down and answered,
returning the parcel : " Gentlemen, I am afraid
I do not quite understand your letter. If I
like a song I shall sing it without a fee, and if I
do not like it there is no fee would make me sing
it." I afterwards learned that the custom of
accepting fees from publishers for introducing
their publications was quite universal among
singers of both sexes, and I ceased to wonder
why it was one so often in England could
hear, even at otherwise good concerts and by
singers of high standing who certainly should
know and I fear did know better, rubbishy
songs which would not be tolerated anywhere
else. Such, however, is the gently persuasive
power of a handsome cheque. But in this



xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 173

respect, too, times, I am sure, have decidedly
improved.

One more of my many interesting experiences
during my first season, I mean interesting to
my readers too, for as to myself I do not
think I had a dull moment from beginning to
end, I will record here. If a year before I
had occasion to admire the charming simplicity
and kindliness of Princess Alice, I was now to
have an opportunity of wondering at the inimit-
able tact and considerateness of her mother,
the great and good Queen Victoria herself.

Anton Rubinstein and I had received the
Queen's command to go to Windsor Castle one
afternoon and play and sing to her. After
receiving us most graciously, Her Majesty
seated herself near the tail-end of the piano,
evidently in order to be able to see Rubinstein's
face as he played. In the distance the only
other listeners were seated, two or three ladies-
in-waiting. The great pianist began with some
Chopin nocturnes and other soft sweet things,
which greatly pleased the Queen. After that
I sang, and then Rubinstein played again,
this time some louder things. I thought I
could detect faint signs of uneasiness in Her
Majesty's face as she seemed to realize the
alarming nearness of the huge concert grand,
the open lid of which threw the sounds back



174 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi

in the direction of Her Majesty's chair with
redoubled force. Then I sang again, and
then, to my dismay I confess, for I had
heard him do it before, Rubinstein settled
down to the playing of Liszt's arrangement
of Schubert's Erl-King. At the first outcry
of the frightened child, " Mein Vater, mein
Vater," I was prepared for the Queen asking me
to close the lid, when there happened the most
touching act, or rather a succession of most
touching acts on the part of her indeed Most
Gracious Majesty. Every now and then she
would, unnoticed by the player, gently push
her chair farther and farther away from the
piano, the sounds issuing from which were
growing more and more terrific from bar to
bar, until, during the last frantic ride of the
horror-stricken father, keys, strings, hammers
seemed to be flying through the air in all direc-
tions, dashed into fragments by the relentless
hoofs of the maddened horse. By that time,
however, the Queen was at a safe distance, and
a charming smile of pleasure and relief stole
over her serious, wonderfully impressive features
when at last, home reached, Rubinstein was
half, and " the child " completely dead.

I had sung, publicly and privately, in over
forty concerts. I consulted my engagement
book and found the words London, Man-



xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 175

Chester, Liverpool, Bradford, Huddersfield, etc.
already entered against dates in November and
December of that year, and my mind was
made up : I decided to move my " Lares et
Penates " from Berlin to London, in spite of
the wishes of an anonymous writer who,
evidently alarmed at the thought of such an
eventuality and in a spirit of disquiet less
disguised than the handwriting of his letter,
advised me to "go back to the Vaterland and
dig potatoes " !

The first part of this injunction I obeyed,
not however to dig potatoes that I did
thirty years later in my home in the Scottish
Highlands but to see my mother and sisters
and spend a few weeks at the villa of my dear
old friend Reinhold Wolff in the Thuringian
woods, and it was there that another first
meeting took place which marked the beginning
of a friendship surviving, through divergencies
of musical thought and ways in later years, to
this day. Shall I ever forget that fine August
day in 1877 when our little circle was suddenly
brightened by the meteor - like appearance
among us of a young and most attractive girl
who was staying in the neighbourhood, the
daughter, we understood, of a British General ?
None of us knew what in her to admire most :
her wonderful musical talent which she dis-



176 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi

played to equal advantage at the piano as well
as by singing, with a peculiarly sympathetic
voice and in compositions of her own, or her
astonishing prowess in athletic feats of agility
and strength, showing us how to play lawn-
tennis, then only just introduced into Germany,
or, to the utter bewilderment of the German
young ladies, and young men, too, for that
matter, how to jump over fences, chairs, and
even tables, thus altogether electrifying and
revolutionizing the up to her advent little
varied though pleasant enough everyday sort
of routine of our life. In one respect, how-
ever, we were all agreed, and that was that we
had among us an extraordinarily commanding
personality, a woman that was sure to be famous
some day. And we were not mistaken. Ethel
Smyth was destined to become, and has become,
what must fill the hearts of British men and
women with particular pride the most remark-
able and original woman-composer in the history
of music. If some years ago her name has
from time to time been before the public in a
capacity other than, and rather removed from
that of a musician, viz. as an active champion of
militant suffragettism, the fact should perhaps
be ascribed to the warmth of a big heart and
to a breadth and width of sympathies found
among the attributes of genius.



XII



WHEN, early in October, I returned to England,
no longer a stranger, I was much impressed
by the grand scale on which in cities like
Manchester, Liverpool, Leeds, Bradford or-
chestral concerts and oratorio performances
were conducted. Charles Halle, to whom
England owes a great deal of the subsequent
development of its musical knowledge and
taste, was then in the zenith of his success.
He was an accomplished, many - sided
musician, an indefatigable worker, and a very
charming, kind, genial man. His " band," as
orchestras were then still apt to be called, was
as excellent a body of musicians as he was
an excellent conductor. There was " no non-
sense " about him, his straightforward readings
being ever distinguished by a reverence now-
adays only too frequently and deplorably
absent. To change a forte in the score of a
classic into a piano, as I but lately have heard
done by a famous London orchestra in one of

177 N



178 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn

Beethoven's symphonies, would to him have
seemed nothing short of sacrilege.

What would he have thought of the modern
wholesale Beethoven - improvers, and of those
critics who calmly suffer such practices instead
of putting their influence to right use by
decrying the vandalism ? Is there a painter
living who would dare to take an old master
whose colouring appears to him a little faded
and " touch him up " by adding a little red
here and a little yellow there, and exhibit the
work as an improvement ?

Poor Music, Cinderella of the Muses ! In
later years my experience as a teacher has
confirmed me in my conviction that music is
the art which suffers more than any of her
sisters from the fact of so many people dabbling,
not so much in the execution as in the teaching
of it. Take, for instance, singing. Who would
dream of taking lessons in painting from a man
who can't paint ? And yet there are successful
teachers of singing successful, I mean, in so far
as they have plenty of pupils who cannot sing
and whose claim to a knowledge of the art is
often found to be resting solely on the fact
of their having at some time or other acted
as accompanists to famous teachers or singers
whose ways and means they have thus learned
to know.



xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 179

Wie er sich rauspert und wie er spuckt,
Das hat er ihm gliicklich abgeguckt

says Goethe.

How he clears his throat and expectorates,
That he has noted and imitates.

But to return to Manchester : my first
appearance there took place at one of the old-
established " Gentlemen's Concerts," a rather
strange designation seeing that, as everywhere,
here, too, the ladies in the audience by far
outnumbered the men. My being asked to
sing there seems to have been something of a
particular compliment, for I have before me a
letter from Joachim, written from the Adelphi
Hotel, Liverpool, in which he says : " These
concerts being as a rule only instrumental
this time Halle, Piatti, and myself the execut-
ants the fact of the committee, at Halle's sug-
gestion, being willing to go to the extra expense
is a special acknowledgment of your art. I
hope, therefore, you will accept the offer and
telegraph a ' Yes ' to Halle. . . . And now let
me tell you how deeply I rejoice in your success
in London. In my artistic career nothing
more agreeable can happen to me than seeing
you inwardly and outwardly reach higher
and ever higher steps. . . . ?! Of course I
accepted, and Manchester became, musically,



180 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn

a second London to me. That " Gentlemen's
Concert " was not long afterwards followed
by a performance, in the great Free Trade Hall,
of Mendelssohn's oratorio of St. Paul, under
Halle's conductorship, and it was at that
performance I made my first appearance in
oratorio before an English audience. I still
have the copy of the Novello edition of the
vocal score, with the words of the part of
St. Paul pencilled in, phonetically spelled, for
I wanted my pronunciation to be as nearly
perfect as possible. Needless to say, I was
somewhat nervous before the performance ;
but imagine my feelings when on the morning
after it I opened the leading Manchester paper,
for which, as I afterwards learned, the late
George Broadfield wrote the articles on Music,
and read a comment on my performance, the
giving of which here will, I trust, not be mis-
interpreted. I have made my last bow as a
singer some time ago, and if I publish Mr.
Broadfield' s eulogy after a lapse of nearly forty
years, when there can be no question of any
material benefit accruing to me from doing so,
it is because the article shows the remarkable
sincerity, independence, and impartiality of the
writer, then personally unknown to me, and
also because its consequences had a decided
influence on my career in England.



xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 181

" Of the singing of Herr Henschel," it runs, " we
cannot possibly speak too highly, and we question
whether a finer display of finished dramatic singing
has been heard during this generation. . . .

" His success last night was something more than
a musical triumph. In the great scene of the con-
version, perhaps the most thrilling number of the
oratorio, Herr Henschel' s delivery will never be for-
gotten by those who had the good fortune to hear it.
One realized the humiliation and abasement of the
repentant zealot in the half-murmured, grief-stricken
cry, ' Lord, who art Thou ? ' Then came the more
prayerful entreaty, ' Lord, what wilt Thou have me
do ? ' Gradually hope tempered despair, and the
great air, ' O God have mercy,' was a masterpiece of
consummate art and intensely devotional singing. . . .

" If space permitted we might dwell on all other
songs and recitatives in which Herr Henschel last
night proved himself one of the greatest of living
singers."

I confess I was deeply touched by so much
kindness. Was it to be wondered at that my
love for England and the English grew apace ?

Soon I had to add the oratorios of Elijah,
Messiah, Judas Maccabaeus, Belshazzar,
Samson, Saul, Theodora, and others to my
repertoire, among the " others 9! being one,
Rossini's Moses in Egypt, which really was
an opera. Biblical subjects, however, being
then still banished from the theatrical stage,
Sir Michael Costa, an enthusiastic admirer of
Rossini's music, considered the work sufficiently



182 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn

religious for an oratorio, and as such introduced
it to the English public. Containing in most
of the choruses and the famous " Moses'
Prayer " indeed some of Rossini's finest music,
it proved a great success, and had quite a
"run." Edward Lloyd's luscious voice and
"bel canto" style were particularly suited to
the beautiful arias allotted to the tenor, whilst
it was Sir Michael's particular pleasure to make
Santley and me alternate at different perform-
ances in the fine bass-parts of Moses and the
King.

Twice my professional engagements took
me to Ireland, in the ordinary fashion, and on
one of these two occasions it was an engage-
ment or, to be quite accurate, an impending
one of a different sort which took me from
there in a manner extraordinary, that is to
say, one generally reserved for persons of either
Royal birth or Royal incomes, viz. by special
train. This, needless to say, unique experience
in my life came about in the following way :
One Tuesday night in November 1879, I
had to sing the Elijah in Belfast, and on the
Thursday of the same week was due in Man-
chester for a performance under Halle, at
which performance my pupil, Miss Bailey,
was to sing the soprano part. My dear friends,
Mr. and Mrs. Koecher, whose never -to -be-



xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 183

forgotten hospitality I invariably enjoyed when
in that city, had on this occasion asked that
young lady too to stay with them at their
beautiful home in Victoria Park. The re-
hearsal to Judas Maccabaeus was to take place
on the morning of Thursday, the day of the
performance. There being at that time no
express train from Belfast to London except
at four o'clock in the afternoon, I could
not, according to the time-tables, have left
the Irish city, after Tuesday's performance,
before Wednesday afternoon, arriving in Man-
chester in the early morning of Thursday, a
thought which made me feel very uncomfort-
able all during the first part of Elijah. I
would have given much to be able to leave
Belfast after the performance that night, and
gradually, as the time for the half-hour's
interval between the first and second parts of
the oratorio approached, that " I would give
much " had developed into " I wonder how
much I'd have to give." The moment con-
ductor, soloists, and orchestra had left the
stage for the refreshment interval, I rushed
to a member of the committee with the
question, " Can you give me an idea of what a
special train to Kingstown would cost ? "
The man must have thought me momentarily
demented, but after a while said, " I am sorry,



184 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn

no ... but . . . one of the Directors of the
Railway Company is singing in the chorus . . .
wait a moment, I will get him." " What luck,"
I thought. Five minutes later I was in deep
conversation with that gentleman, who as an
answer to the same question mentioned, alas,
an impossible sum. I was on the point of most
sadly resigning myself to my fate and giving
up all hope, when a sudden inspiration made
me ask further, " Is there no point on the line
of the night-express from Londonderry to
Kingstown at which, by leaving here after the
concert, I could catch and join that train ? '
(It will be seen that I had studied my map very
carefully !) A minute or two of silence on the
part of the gentleman and anxious suspense
on mine, and then he exclaimed : ic I say, for
a foreigner you are remarkably sharp yes,
the express passes through Portadown at
1 A.M. By leaving Belfast at midnight you
could be there at 12.45, and I would telegraph
at once orders to have the train stopped to
pick you up." I grew more and more excited.
" How much ? ' I asked. And to my great
joy the answer was so eminently and surpris-
ingly satisfactory that the bargain was con-
cluded then and there. The bell, advising us
of the end of the interval, sounded. " All
right," my benefactor said, " good-bye, or



xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 185

no au revoir I shall be there," and two
minutes later I was in my seat on the platform,
a happy man, especially when the contralto
Angel got up and sang, " Arise, Elijah, for
thou hast a long journey before thee." " Yes,"
I thought, " and in about two hours I am
going to start on it," and if the first words of
my answering recitative, " Oh Lord, in vain
I have laboured," did not perhaps ring quite
as true as usual, the fault was to be laid to the
accommodating courtesy of that obliging
Director of the North of Ireland Railway.
At a quarter to eleven I was at my hotel.
" Bring me some oysters, please, bread and
butter, and a pint of stout, I am leaving for
London." " There's no train, sir." " Never
mind, I am leaving, I shall be in the coffee-
room in fifteen minutes." " Very well, sir,"
said the puzzled waiter, shaking his head.
The changing into my travelling clothes and
the packing of my valise were accomplished in
a marvellously short time ; during my little,
much -relished supper a railway official pre-
sented me with the bill for the special train,
which I paid (I have it still), and at 11.50 I
was at the station, usually at that time closed
and in utter darkness, but now lighted up,
and my train, consisting of an engine and a
first-class carriage, drawn up on the platform.



186 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn

I chatted a few minutes with my friend, the
Director, and punctually at midnight the
little train steamed out of the station. Throw-
ing myself into the cushions of my compart-
ment I actually laughed aloud with pleasure
at the thought of my success and in anticipation
of the surprise of my dear friends in Victoria
Villa, where after being royally received by
the stationmaster at Portadown, who had been
telegraphically apprised of my arrival, and
promptly conveyed by him to the express for
Kingstown I safely arrived on Wednesday
afternoon, an hour before their other guest.
Perhaps the most amusing part of the adven-
ture was the fact that my extravagance paid
itself by the utterly unpremeditated advertise-
ment it had given me, the papers of the
following day concluding their comment on the
performance by the news that " Herr Henschel
left for Manchester by special train last night
after the performance of Elijah."

Of the fact that Herr Henschel's grandeur
was of only forty-five minutes' duration, there
was no mention.

In the year 1880 an event of extraordinary
interest roused the Musical World of England
to an unusually high pitch of excitement.
Halle, who had long cherished the plan of
introducing Berlioz's masterpiece, La Damna-



xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 187

lion de Faust, to English audiences, had at last
definitely decided to do so, his daughter
Marie having prepared an excellent and most
singable version, afterwards published by
Chappells, of the original text, a literary and
musical achievement which no later translators
have, in my opinion, succeeded in improving
upon. The soloists : charming Mary Davies,
splendid Edward Lloyd, and Mr. Hilton and
myself, received the parts of Margaret, Faust,
Brander and Mephisto respectively, in plenty
of time to become thoroughly familiar with
the music, whilst Halle, assisted by his faithful
lieutenant, Edward Hecht, the chorus-master,
held innumerable practices with orchestra and
chorus. On the 5th of February a huge
audience, filling the vast Free Trade Hall in
Manchester to its utmost capacity, acclaimed
the eccentric Frenchman's chef-d'oeuvre with
an enthusiasm which must have amply repaid
dear Halle for the endless trouble he had taken
in the preparation of the work, and been a
source to him of the keenest gratification to
the end of his long and successful career. A
second performance followed, almost immedi-
ately, and a year later, in 1881, Halle took his
whole band and chorus to London, where, at
St. James's Hall, with the same cast of soloists,
the work met with equal success. The English



188 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn

vocal score once published, other towns soon
took up the work, the popularity of which has
been almost unprecedented in this country.
And no wonder. Quite apart from the con-
summate skill in the handling of all his resources,
which one is justified in expecting from a master
like Berlioz, and from the originality and
humour that are peculiarly his own, the work,
above all, abounds in a depth of feeling, which,
having its seat far down in the heart, can, in
music, only find utterance in melody.

Take, for instance, that sweet Easter hymn,
the sounds of which are reaching Faust's ears
from the neighbouring cathedral just at the
moment when, utterly despairing of life, he
raises to his lips the poison-cup that is to put
an end to it.

Why here in dust,
he exclaims,

entice me with your spell,
Ye gentle, powerful sounds of Heaven ?
Peal rather there where tender natures dwell
Your messages I hear, but faith has not been given.

But the sacred strains continuing conjure up
in him the memory of innocent childhood and
youth, his slowly melting heart no longer feels
strong enough to resist their appeal he re-
pents, and with the words :



xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 189

Sound on, ye Hymns of Heaven, so sweet and mild
My tears gush forth : the Earth takes back her child ! *

the cup drops from his hand.

The music here, especially towards the end,
when Faust's voice soars higher and higher
in unison with the melody of the distant
chorus, is of such transcendent beauty and
fervour, that the man who can hear it without
being stirred to the innermost recesses of his
soul must indeed be " fit for treasons, stratagems,
and spoils. . . . Let no such man be trusted."
And, to mention only one more of the in-
numerable beauties of the score, that wonderful,
mystic setting the finest extant of the Song
of the King of Thule ! Old father Haydn
says somewhere, " A really new minuet I value
more than any amount of contrapuntal
craftiness." For minuet I would substitute
" melody." To say that music without melody
is like a flower without scent, would only partly
express what I feel about it, for a scentless
flower may still be a beautiful thing to look at.
To me music without melody simply isn't
music at all and if, when speaking of the first
performance of the Ring at Bayreuth I ven-
tured to confess to being bored by those
endless monologues and tedious argumentative

1 I have given Bayard Taylor's literal translation of Goethe's
original.



190 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn

duets, in Siegfried for instance, I do not
hesitate to go further and, at the risk, I fear,
of shocking some of my readers, to declare that
there are passages even in the much-looked-
down-upon earlier works of Verdi, like, " O
mi a regina " in Don Carlos, or " Eri tu " in
Ballo in Maschera, for which I'd give whole
pages of the Nibelunge.

The splendid, sometimes terrific part of
Mephisto suited me to perfection, and rare
were the occasions when I was able to refuse
a repetition of that fascinating, sardonic
serenade, " Dear Kath'rine, why to the door of
thy Lover . . ."



XIII

IT would have been strange if my growing
success in oratorio had not called forth a
repetition, for a while, of anonymous invitations
of the "go -back -and -dig -potatoes" sort, but
it was too late now ; I was safely and definitely
settled in the land I had grown to love and
which, after having sworn allegiance to Her
Most Gracious Majesty, I was, with the excep-
tion of the three winters of my conductorship
of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, of which
later, never to leave again.

My speaking of England as the land I had
grown to love recalls to my mind a very neat
and rather courageous thing a dear friend of
mine, the late John S. Bergheim, once did in
London. He was in every respect a remark-
able man. Of extraordinary intellect and ver-
satility and, though a business man, and an
excellent one equally keen on horticulture,
science, art, photography (a lens he invented
some years ago is to-day known as the Bergheim
lens), he did whatever he undertook with his

191



192 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm

whole soul. Being also an ardent politician
and a very eloquent speaker, he considered it
his duty and made it his business at election
times to attend meetings of the opposite party
he was a strong Unionist and heckle the
speakers, not infrequently with the desired
effect.

On one of these occasions he was making
a very strong attack on some of the principles
expounded by the speaker of the evening,
when some one in the body of the hall angrily
called out to him, " Sit down, you are not an
Englishman ! " Bergheim, who happened to
have been born in Jerusalem, but long natural-
ized, imperturbably asked the gentleman
kindly to repeat what he had said. " You
are not an Englishman," the man said again.
" Would you mind," replied Bergheim, " coming
up to the platform and saying it once more
from here ? For I have something to say to
you." Doggedly the man a working man-
made his way through the crowd to the plat-
form and, confronting Bergheim, said for the
third time, " You are not an Englishman."
" Well," shouted Bergheim, " let me tell you,
/ am more of an Englishman than you are."
Uproar of indignation, which having subsided,
Bergheim continued : " You could not help
being an Englishman, you were born one. /



xm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 193

have chosen to be an Englishman, for after
having travelled all over the globe and knowing
the world from one end to another, I found
there is no better, no freer, no more beautiful
land for a man to live in than England."

This time the uproar was one of approval
and delight, amidst which the man confusedly
returned to his seat and Bergheim was allowed
to continue.

When some years later Bergheim asked me
to accompany him and his wife on one of their
annual journeys that year it was to be
Tunis and Algeria I accepted the invitation
with all the greater alacrity, knowing how so
desirable an experience as seeing new worlds
and new people would be rendered doubly
enjoyable by the companionship of a friend
as interesting and stimulating as Bergheim.

" To stroll with you, Sir Doctor, flatters,"
as Goethe makes Wagner say to Faust, " 'tis
honour, yea, and profit too." Bergheim's
knowledge, moreover, of the language of the
places we were going to visit, promised par-
ticular privileges and, indeed, stood us in
good stead on several occasions, two of which,
the one amusing, the other awful and alarming
to a degree, were, I think, sufficiently out of
the common to be recorded in these pages.

It was in Tunis. With the intention of

o



194 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm

strolling through the streets on the morning
after our arrival, on our way to the famous
bazaar, we had hardly left our hotel when we
were accosted by a picturesque Arab in white
tunic and flowing pink burnous, a tall, hand-
some young beggar who, perceiving we were
sight-seeing foreigners, doggedly importuned
us to employ him as a cicerone for the day.
He followed us like a shadow, reiterating his
petition with every step, and nothing we could
do would make him leave us alone, a most
annoying performance. Our " imshee, im-
shee," meaning, " go away," a word I had
learned among the first, having been apprised
of its particular value to travellers in those
parts was of no avail, though repeated in
ever louder voice and quicker succession ; the
rascal stuck to us, and the nuisance was growing
more unbearable with every minute. At last
Bergheim turned to me saying, " Now watch
me and see what'll happen," and, all of a
sudden, after the next solicitation, approaching
close to and fixing his large and penetrating
eyes upon the terrified fellow, he poured over
him a volley of Arabic words with a rapidity
as if he had never spoken any other language
in his life. The effect was instantaneous and
really indescribably funny.

For a moment the Arab, perfectly stunned,



xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 195

looked at Bergheim with staring eyes and
wide-open mouth ; then, stooping to the
ground, he gathered, with a quick movement,
the hem of his cloak into both his hands and
off he went, running, running, looking neither
to right nor left, as if pursued by the Devil.
And then Bergheim told us. The magic words
had been one of those fearful Arabic oaths in
which aspersions of the gravest and most
damaging kind are cast on all the female
members of the culprit's family, from the
great-grandmother downwards, and he himself
consigned to a place compared to which our
European Hell would seem a sort of comfortable
paradise. When a few hours later we emerged
from the bazaar into an open square, we actually
saw the fellow still on the run, far off he had
evidently spied us in the distance.

Difficult as it was to tear ourselves away
from the fascinations of Tunis, of which the
bazaar, acknowledged to be, also architectur-
ally, one of the finest in the world, proved the
most alluring never, for instance, had I seen
such a wealth of beautiful silk fabrics before
" Time," alas, " robbed us of our joy " at last,
and we had to go ; not, however, before having
spent a memorable day in Carthage. Carthage !
What a peculiar sensation it gives one to find
oneself for the first time on ground the



196 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm

history of which, dating back to centuries
before Christ, deals with personages almost
mythical and whose, according to schoolboys'
ideas, wholly unnecessary names it had been
a most tedious task to learn by heart along
with the dates. I could hardly realize that
in the ruins before me I was actually beholding
the result of Cato's persistent "Ceterum censeo,"
and that whilst walking over the site of the
ancient Byrsa, the citadel of Dido, I might for
all I knew be accidentally stepping on a piece
of that lady's artfully accommodating cowhide !
Constantine, too, where our itinerary called
for a day's halt on our way to Biskra, proved
to be well worth the two we decided devoting
to it, on account not only of its richness in
ancient relics and especially well preserved
Roman remains after Pompey's fall the city
surrendered to Julius Caesar and his allies
but also of its situation, which is one of the
most splendid imaginable. Standing partly on
the slope and partly on the summit of a hill
commanding a magnificent view across the vast
fertile valley, the town is almost entirely built
on rocks innumerable, varying in height from
three hundred to a thousand feet, separated
from each other by nature in the shape of
narrow gorges and ravines, and connected on
the top by man, that is to say bridged over by



xm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 197

hundreds of little gangways. Moreover, it was
here where, owing to Bergheim's familiarity
with the language of the country, we had the
second of the two experiences I will now
endeavour to describe.

Arriving at Constantine on a Thursday we
were delighted to find that by a happy chance
we had come in the right week, almost on the
right day to witness if indeed we should be
fortunate to gain admittance, a most difficult
task we were told the performances of that
strange sect of fanatics, the Ai'ssa-Ouas, who
held their mysterious seances only once a
fortnight, on Fridays. No arrangements could
be made beforehand, so, trusting to the good
luck which so far had not failed us, we set out
on the Friday night, after a hasty supper not
wanting to be a minute late for the place of
the orgies indicated to us by the landlord and
which, having once entered the precincts of
the native quarter, we had no difficulty in
locating from the low, threatening tumult of
voices, more like that of wild animals than of
human beings, mixed with the noise of high-
pitched drums and weird, monotonous chanting
that reached our ears, increasing with every
step that brought us nearer to it. We wondered
what it could be like inside if already yards
away we felt every nerve strangely excited.



198 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm

At last, in a narrow, dirty little side street we
came to some broad stone steps leading to
what looked like a mosque, and at the top of
them there stood a very heavy, beturbaned
Arab who, greatly to our discomfort, gave us
to understand, in French, that there were too
many of us, pointing to two other foreigners
standing behind us, apparently on the same
quest. He seemed determined on that point,
and disinclined to listen to our entreaties,
until Bergheim had an inspiration. Addressing
him in his own tongue he promised him, in
case of our admission, a sum of money for the
benefit of the institution, and the result was
instantaneous. The man told Bergheim, in
Arabic, he would let us in if we came back in
about a quarter of an hour, and then, in French,
pretending to be immovable, turned us all
away, including the two strangers. After
having made sure of the latter having safely
left the quarter, we returned and, Bergheim
dropping the money " for the institution " into
the doorkeeper's hand, were allowed to set
foot in the sanctum. We four I omitted to
mention that a charming mutual lady friend,
alas, like dear Bergheim, no more among us, had
made up our little partie carree from the first
and a French officer were the only " un-
believers " among the fearful crowd inside.



xin MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 199

As we entered we faced a large court, ending in
a semicircle and surmounted by a high cupola
from which was suspended a large, many-armed
chandelier, whilst two candelabra stood between
the columns on the line between the large
court and the two adjoining smaller ones on
the right and left. In the middle court there
were crouching four old Arabs, each with a little
drum between his knees and a small cauldron
with glowing coals before him, over which, from
time to time, they warmed the skin of the drum
to keep it taut. Around those four, also sitting
on the floor with their legs crossed, were from
fifteen to twenty young men, all dressed in
white and turbaned like the rest. It was from
those the chanting noise we had heard in the
street, emanated. They were " singing " at
the top of their shrill voices passages from the
Koran, paying no heed to time or pitch, every
one as he listed, whilst the drums unceasingly
and in perfect rhythm repeated the one phrase
that approached anything like music :



Against the wall of the left aisle were leaning,
in an upright position, shoulder to shoulder,
and swaying to and fro like the pendulum of a
clock, to the rhythm of the drums, a motley



200 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm

crowd of Arabs, Moors, Negroes from the
Soudan, Bedouins, and Kabyles ; every now
and then the outer door would be thrown open
and a new addition to the number of fanatics
press his form between two links of the sway-
ing human chain and join in the movement,
desirous of becoming one of the elect, as will be
seen presently. In the right aisle, under a sort
of canopy, was sitting on an elevation a tall,
silent, serious man of great age, with a long
beard and in the beautifully draped, rich robe
of a priest, two younger men, equally silent and
serious, standing immovably beside him on the
floor. At the feet of the priest there stood a
mysterious-looking wooden chest with finely
wrought brass corners. Louder and louder,
quicker and quicker grew the noise of the
drums and the chanting, and from the moving
mass of the men on the wall of the left aisle,
describing ever -larger half-circles with their
bodies, there commenced to issue deep sighs
and groans, ever increasing in frequency and
force until the whole building resounded as
with the agonized moans of souls in the torment
of hell-fire, more terrifying almost than what
was to come. At last the climax seemed to
be reached. From the line of the entrance there
broke away a handsome youth of about sixteen,
and, rushing past us, and halting before the



xin MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 201

priest, made him, with outstretched arms, a
low obeisance, which the latter acknowledged
by a slow, benignant bend of his head. The
boy then, turning quickly round and with his
back to the priest, firmly, almost defiantly
planted himself on the floor, his legs somewhat
apart, his arms crossed over his chest and his
head slightly thrown back. One of the two
assistants then divested him of turban and
jacket, the boy was a Kabyle, whilst the
other ceremoniously opened the casket, with-
drawing from it some sharp-pointed darts of
considerable length. On the boy opening wide
his mouth the man took two of the darts, and
with them, to our horror, slowly pierced, from
the inside out, both cheeks of the boy, who
showed no sign of discomfort or pain whatever
there was, strangely enough, no blood visible
but smilingly turning to the priest made
another obeisance, after which, with the daggers
in his cheeks, he danced in perfect joy and
happiness across the middle court back to the
other side. We were of course dumbfounded,
but had no time to reflect on what we had seen,
for almost immediately there came another
young man offering himself for sacrifice. Being
somewhat older and stronger than his pre-
decessor, he had not only his cheeks pierced
by four darts, two in each, but also his tongue



202 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm

and, above the Adam's apple, the skin of his
throat, after which operations he, too, with the
six darts sticking out of him like the spines of
a porcupine, danced back in bliss sublime. He
was followed by a third, subjected to increased
torture, sought and borne with equal joyous-
ness, and we considered ourselves by that time
quite hardened, when an unearthly yell made
us realise the rashness of the thought. It was
a yell not of pain, but of transcendent, frantic
joy, and issued from the next enthusiast who,
evidently not content with the gratification
those poor eight or ten darts in every part of
his head could afford him, had taken hold of a
substantial dagger, was now placing its point
into the corner of his right eye, and making it
move rapidly by rubbing the handle between
the palms of his hands, caused the eye to bulge
out of its socket a fearful, sickening sight-
all the while shouting and dancing and laugh-
ing, I was going to say like a madman, but
there was no " likeness " about it, it was the
real thing. Imagine all these things going on
to the exasperatingly relentless accompaniment
of voices and drums, and in an atmosphere
growing more and more stifling and objection-
able. I think we were about ready to go, and
only waiting for an opportunity of doing so
unobserved, when the anticipation of the next



xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 208

" act," by seeing one of the attendants take
out a formidable scimitar, whilst an expectant
victim was stripped to the waist by the other,
and a consequent look at our ladies, who
appeared in imminent need of smelling - salts,
prompted us to dispense with ceremony, and,
observed or no, a minute later fortunately
we had been sitting near the exit we breathed
a sigh of relief as the door of the Inferno closed
behind us and we found ourselves once more
under the deep blue dome of Heaven, " clad
in the beauty of a thousand stars."

That night, at the hotel I always was fond
of experimenting I borrowed a good-sized
needle from the chambermaid, and forced it
through the skin of my left thumb above the
nail : it didn't hurt a bit.

The morning following we left, and the
absorbingly interesting journey, by rail, from
Constantine to Biskra, made us soon forget the
nightmare of the evening before, in the thought
of actually being on the way to the Sahara !
I envied those double-headed heraldic eagles;
to have been able to look out of both windows
at the same time would have been a great
advantage ; though, as it was, the constant
jumping from one side of the compartment to
the other, so as not to lose any of the sights we
were passing, as for instance the colossal, cone-



204 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm

shaped tomb of the ancient Numidian kings,
or some flamingos by the lakes near Yagout,
proved a very welcome and wholesome exercise.
The nearer we approached to the end of our
journey the finer the landscape seemed to be-
come and the greater our excitement ; and just
before El Kantara was reached, we felt, even
if our guide-book had not prepared us for it,
that something wonderful was soon to happen.
Slowly and laboriously our train was wending
its way through the ever-narrowing gorge. On
the right and left huge rocky heights, from out
of a recess in which that most graceful of
animals, the timid, lovely gazelle would cast a
frightened glance on us before bolting into a
place of greater safety ; now and then a little
bridge over a rushing river, banked by palm-
trees and oleanders, and now, with surprising
suddenness the great Sahara burst into view,
bathed in glorious sunshine. Another hour of
exquisite sights, the rose and orange Aures
mountains in the distance, dense forests of
huge date-palms in the foreground, and the
Queen of the Desert, as the Arabs call Biskra,
was reached.

Arriving only a few minutes before sunset,
we did not even stop to superintend the dis-
tribution of our various trunks and valises
into the rooms they were to go to, but im-



xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 205

mediately rushed up the three flights of stairs
to the flat roof of our hotel, a fine, arcaded
building in the purest Moorish style, and
higher still, to the gallery of the minaret which
gracefully rises from it. We should have been
more than satisfied and happy with the over-
whelmingly beautiful view on which our eyes
feasted unable to utter a word we merely
looked at each other wonder-struck but, as
luck would have it, we had hit on the last day
of the races, usually celebrated by what is
known as a " Fantasia." There they came
at full gallop, the Kaids with the elite of the
different tribes, each tribe under its own colour,
mounted on their spirited, gaily caparisoned
horses, with silver-and-gold-embroidered saddles
and broad stirrups, the riders in their flow-
ing coloured cloaks all the while discharging
their guns and carbines into the air to their
hearts' content, for there's nothing the Arab
loves more than that, the deepening red of the
setting sun throwing a magic glow over the
scene it was actually living in a fairy-tale, as
indeed every day of that memorable journey
seemed to me. The market-place, covered with
all sorts of merchandise spread out on the
ground before the crouching sellers and alive
with a white-robed, turbaned crowd the call
to prayer by the Muezzin at sunrise and sunset



206 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm

from the four corners of the minaret the
Moorish cafes in the evening with those hand-
some, naughty Ouled-Nail dancing-girls in their
gorgeous costumes and jewels, who when they
get a silver or gold coin have a way of blowing
on it and, with a quick movement, making it
stick to their foreheads, which sometimes are
completely decked with them the witnessing
of the starting of a Caravan, an event of which
one is apprised by the unearthly noises issuing
from the throats of refractory camels refusing
to be laden the passing of a regiment of
Spahis, looking every one of them a sultan the
wonderful garden of the Chateau Landon with
its acres of flowers and specimen trees and
shrubs of all climes, which an army of gardeners
keep in so distressingly neat a state of order
that actually not a stray leaf blown on to the
paths is allowed to remain for a moment
(labour must be cheap in Biskra) the visit, in
a carriage, to Sidi Okba, with its venerable
mosque, considered to be the oldest Moham-
medan building in Africa, and the school
attached to it where we for a minute attended
a Koran class one impression chasing the other
in infinite variety. Not, however, being a
poet, I shall spare my readers a recital of
details, which from my pen would, I fear, be
no better than, or perhaps even, more likely



xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 207

not as good as a page from a Practical Guide
for Travellers. So I take leave of bewitching
Biskra, and from among the rich store of sub-
sequent incidents select only one more.

On my first stroll through the streets of
Algiers, whither we went from Biskra and
where we made a prolonged stay, I experienced
the rare joy of suddenly getting a whiff of the
beloved Scottish Highlands, which tended to
increase in me the feeling of which, amid all
the date-palms and rubber -trees and cedars
and olives I had been conscious from time to
time during the journey a perfect longing for
the sight of a Scotch fir, the scent of heather
and bracken. In the main street of the
European quarter, over a grocer's shop, what
should I read but the name " Macpherson " !
Needless to say I rushed in, almost embracing
the proud bearer of it, and buying a lot of
things I didn't in the least want. He knew the
neighbourhood of my home in Inverness- shire,
and we had a beautiful time together. He did
an excellent business on week-days, and on
Sundays was the beadle of the dear little
Scottish Church in Mustapha Superieur, where,
on the Sunday following, I presided at the
organ, and, " leading the praise," singing the
dear familiar hymns and psalms, I felt like the
prodigal son come home. And now, Good-bye



208 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm

to the land of Arabian Nights. I took away
with me a wealth of exquisite, unfading
memories. Nay, more; for, hardly credible
as it may seem, even those few weeks among
the Arabs I made a point of not only watching
them, but also talking to many of those who
could speak French have actually made a
difference in my way of looking at life. The
Arab impressed me as wonderfully indifferent
to outside influences, quite unconsciously self-
contained. Being a strong believer, in the true
religious sense of the word, he thinks of his soul
more than of his body, and the soul being
always with him, it does not seem to matter
with him where his body might happen to be.
Hence, for instance, the utter absence of any-
thing like hurry. (True, our friend in Tunis
did run, but his hurry was, not to get anywhere,
but rather the opposite, to run away from what
he must have thought the fiend incarnate.) It
is really amusing to see the leisurely way of an
Arab walking behind his ass with a load on the
animal's back, evidently not caring in the least
if he reach his destination to-day, to-morrow,
or the day after. He thinks, " What does it
matter where I am I am here." It really has
taught me quite a good deal. Things that
would have annoyed or irritated me before, I now
almost always succeed in shaking off with the



xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 209

thought, " What of it ? What does it matter ? "
And as to running to catch a train or a bus I
never do that now, I simply wait for the next.
But nothing, I think, gives a better illustration
of the Arab character than the famous letter
written years ago by a Kaid in whose province
and among whose tribe a British diplomatist
had been residing for a considerable period.
The letter may probably be known to some
of my readers, but those to whom it is new,
will no doubt relish the reading of it more than,
in all probability, its recipient did at the time.

The Englishman, intending to write a book
about the Arabs, and particularly the district
in which he had been living, wrote to his good
friend, the Kaid, asking him to be good enough
to supply him with certain information regard-
ing the history and statistics of the place, and
this was the Arab chief's answer :

MY ILLUSTRIOUS FRIEND AND JOY OF MY LIVER

The thing you ask of me is both difficult and
useless. Although I have passed all my days in
this place I have neither counted the houses nor have
I inquired into the number of the inhabitants ; and
as to what one person loads on his mules, and the
other stows away in the bottom of his boat, that is
no business of mine. But, above all, as to the previous
history of this city, God only knows the amount of
dirt and confusion that the Infidels may have eaten
before the coming of the sword of Islam. It were

P



210 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm

unprofitable for us to inquire into it. O my soul !
O my lamb ! seek not after the things which concern
thee not. Thou earnest unto us and we welcomed
thee : Go in peace.

Of a truth thou hast spoken many words, and there
is no harm done, for the speaker is one and the listener
is another. After the fashion of thy people thou
hast wandered from one place to another, until thou
art happy and content in none. We (praise be to
God) were born here, and never desire to quit it. Is
it possible, then, that the idea of a general intercourse
between mankind should make any impression on
our understandings ? God forbid !

Listen, O my son ! There is no wisdom equal
unto the belief in God ! He created the world : and
shall we liken ourselves unto Him in seeking to
penetrate into the mysteries of His creation ? Shall
we say, Behold this star spinneth around that star,
and this other star with a tail goeth and cometh in
so many years ? Let it go ! He, from whose hand
it came, will guide and direct it.

But thou wilt say unto me, Stand aside, O man,
for I am more learned than thou art, and have seen
more things. If thou thinkest that thou art in this
respect better than I am, thou art welcome. I praise
God that I seek not that which I require not. Thou
art learned in the things I care not for ; and as for
that which thou hast seen, I pour confusion on it.
Will much knowledge create thee a double belly, or
wilt thou seek paradise with thine eyes ?

O my friend ! If thou wilt be happy, say, There
is no God but God ! Do no evil, and thus wilt thou
fear neither man nor death ; for surely thine hour
will come ! The meek in spirit (el Fakir).

IMAUM ALI ZADE.



XIV

DURING one of my earliest visits to Liverpool I
remember meeting at a dinner-party a young
married woman whose fine Roman features
and fiery eyes unmistakably betrayed talent
and enthusiasm. Whether for art or literature
I could not know, having never seen her before,
but was hardly surprised when after dinner
she told me of her passionate love of music.
She wondered if I would care to hear her
sing, which, on the following day, I did. She
sang Brahms' Von ewiger Liebe, and, on my
expressing my delight at the beautiful quality
of her voice and the true musicianly feeling of
her rendering of the song, asked me if I would
teach her. Needless to say, I only too readily
and gladly agreed ; the lady came to London
soon afterwards, and " Marie Brema," the name,
now famous, by which she elected to be pro-
fessionally known, became one of my first pupils
in England.

The season of 1878-79 was a particularly

prosperous one in business circles. There had

211



212 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xiv

been what I think is called a " boom v huge
fortunes were made in a short time and private
palaces sprang up in the neighbourhood of Hyde
Park like mushrooms. One tells of one of those
multi-millionaires being informed by the land-
lord's agent that the cost of his proposed house
must not be below twenty thousand pounds,
and politely replying that that was just the
sum he intended spending on his stables. At
one of those house-warming parties I remember
being present. The spacious hall and lofty
staircase of the beautiful though perhaps a
little too luxurious house were conspicuous by
an extraordinarily large number of niches,
destined probably at some future time to
receive statues executed by the first sculptors
of the day. On that occasion all those niches
were filled with a profusion of the most lovely
roses, a wonderful sight no doubt ; in my
diary, however, against the date of that party, I
find nothing but the short, I fear somewhat
naughty entry :

House Niches and roses ;
Company Riches and noses.

A rising of the Stock Exchange barometer
generally means a spell of fair weather to
the arts, and the musical season proved to
be a particularly prosperous one. Among the



xiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 213

songs and ballads I used to sing at that time
none was more popular with the public than
Schumann's " The Two Grenadiers," and few
indeed were the occasions when, especially at
private concerts, I was not asked to include
that fine and truly inspired composition in
my programme. In February 1879 it served
as the subject of a rather interesting episode.
The occasion was a soiree at Marlborough House
in honour of the Prince Imperial of France
prior to his departure for Zululand whence,
alas, he was not to return alive. The inevitable
" Two Grenadiers " was on the programme of
the concert about to commence, when I was
summoned to the Princess of Wales, who
expressed a doubt as to the advisability of
having that song, with the " Marseillaise " at
the end, in the presence of the Prince Imperial.
I of course was quite ready to substitute
another song, but as I was moving towards
the piano, the royal host, having evidently
been told by the Princess of the proposed
change, and remembering perhaps not so much
the melody as the words of that stirring final
stanza of the ballad, bade me by all means
sing it, as in his opinion it would be " the very
thing the Prince Imperial would like." And
he was right. The young Napoleon, a very
handsome young man, with most engaging



214 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xiv

manners, stood close to the piano whilst I
was singing, and when he recognized the martial
strains of the " Marseillaise " at the end with
the wonderful climax on the words " Then,
fully armed, I will rise from my grave, the
Emp'ror, my Emp'ror defending," his eyes
flashed with excitement and, full of emotion,
he came up to me and thanked me.

Years afterwards I was staying at Frimhurst,
Farnborough, as the guest of General and Mrs.
Smyth, when one afternoon Ethel and one of
her sisters and I were asked by their neighbour,
the Empress Eugenie, to come over and have
tea with her. I shall never forget the im-
pression it made on me when that quiet, still
very beautiful lady showed us the Prince
Imperial's room, left untouched ever since
he left it for his ill-starred journey in '79.
Many objects in it, like chair -backs or port-
folios, had stamped on them the letter N with
the imperial crown above and a Roman IV
beneath it, and at one end of the room there
stood on an easel a large oil-painting depicting
the last moments of poor young Napoleon the
Fourth. Standing alone in the vast veldt, he
is on the point of mounting his restive horse ;
in the left hand the reins, the left foot in the
stirrup, he turns his head toward the distance
from which one sees the rapid approach of



xiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 215

half a dozen Zulus swinging their spears and
evidently shouting their savage war-cries ; his
right hand is grasping the hilt of his sword,
his face is pale, his eye full of fearless determina-
tion a painfully impressive, affecting picture.
I told the Empress of that evening at Marl-
borough House and the Schumann ballad,
and she begged me to sing it to her, which I
did no easy task seeing before me the pathetic
figure of the bereaved mother who, when it
was over, shook my hand in eloquent silence.

Only quite lately I was told the source from
which Heine drew the inspiration for his im-
mortal poem. As I do not think the story is
very generally known to me it was quite new
I will give it here.

Among the guards of the Grande Armee
who returned with Napoleon from Russia,
broken in health and spirits, the shadows of
their former selves, there was one who, before
he went out, had been a well-to-do man,
owning a little house with a garden in the out-
skirts of Paris. That house was now all that
was left him besides a few hundred francs.
On his reaching Paris at last, he went straight
to a celebrated sculptor and said, " I shall not
live much longer. Here is all the money I
have in the world. I know it is not a tenth
of what you are in the habit of getting for your



216 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xiv

work. Take it and make me a statue of my
Emperor which I want to put up in my garden."
The sculptor, greatly touched by such devotion,
refused the money but promised to do the
man's wish, and the statue in due time, to the
unspeakable joy of the brave old soldier, was
delivered and placed in the middle of his garden.
The poor, worn-out man soon afterwards died,
and his will contained the following directions :
" I wish to be clad in my uniform when I am
dead ; with the sword on my side, the cross
of honour pinned to my breast, and the musket
in my arm. And in my garden, at the foot
of the Emperor's statue, there bury me, in
an upright position, like a sentry."

The truth of this pathetic little story is
vouched for by the eminent French writer
and diplomatist, M. Paleologue.

Not many years later it was I who would
gladly have been excused from singing a song
because of the presence among my listeners
of an exalted personage in whom I thought
that song might conjure up sad and painful
memories. This time the scene was Clarence
House, the residence then of the Duke of
Edinburgh. My wife and I were bidden, at
very short, indeed only a few hours' notice to
come and make a little music in the evening
" there would be only about a dozen people



xiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 217

besides the Duke and Duchess and their guest,
Queen Isabella of Spain." The Duke who, it
will be remembered, was quite musical even to
the extent of being the leader of the violins in the
Royal Amateur Society orchestra, particularly
fancied a song which I used to sing a good deal
when I first came to England, a song which
was very dear to me too as an echo from my
early youth when the opera from which it
was taken, Lort zing's Czar and Carpenter,
was a great favourite all over Germany, and
my father and mother loved to hear me sing
that indeed very lovely song, set to words-
put into the mouth of Peter the Great of
peculiar charm and pathos.

In the first stanza the Czar remembers his
boyhood, when he played with a crown and
a sceptre, and from the surrounding crowd of
courtiers and servants loved to return to his
father's caresses. " Oh blessed," he exclaims,
66 oh blessed, a child still to be ! ' :

In the second stanza he is himself the Czar
now crown and sceptre have ceased to be
toys ; his only thought is for the welfare of
his people, but in all his royal purple he feels
alone and friendless. " Oh blessed," he calls
again, " a child still to be ! "

In the last stanza he thinks of the end.
The strife over, a monument of stone will be



218 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xiv

all his reward, where he craves one in the
hearts of his people. Alas, earthly greatness
vanishes like a dream, and full of grief and
bitterness he cries

But when, Heavenly Father,
Thou call'st me to Thee
Then blessed, oh blessed,
Thy child I shall be !

Simple, touching words ; simple, touching
music. Well, imagine my feelings when, after
a few Schubert and Schumann songs the Duke
asked for that Czar's song ! How could I
sing it, with the Duchess, the daughter of the
good and kind Czar Alexander, whose cruel
assassination in 1881 sent a thrill of horror
and indignation and compassion throughout
the civilized world, sitting there in front of
me ? For a moment I was dumbfounded. I
attempted to excuse myself, pretending not
to know the song by heart. " Why, Henschel,"
the Duke exclaimed, " it was only a fortnight
ago I heard you sing it at St. James's Hall ! "
What should, what could I do ? Suddenly
I had an inspiration : I would sing only two
stanzas, and by melting the second and third
into one evade at least the allusion to that
sad " monument of stone." Extremely happy
to have found a way out of the dilemma, I
sat down and sang, imagining, however, I could



xiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 219

feel the fine, serious features of the Duchess
grow more serious with every bar.

Hardly had I finished when the Duke sprang
up, " But, my dear sir, you have left out the
most pathetic part of the song ! " and he took
me aside and told me how the money for a
monument to " his poor father-in-law 5: had
long been collected, but as to the monument
itself heaven only knew when it would be
put up.

I really think he would have had me sing
the whole song over again, unabbreviated, but
fortunately it was getting late and there was
no more music that night.



XV



DURING these first seasons I gave two or three
musical parties, and I particularly recall one
at which I had among my guests George Eliot
and George Henry Lewes, whom I had re-
peatedly met at the house of Mr. Triibner the
publisher. They were neither of them beautiful
to look at, but, somehow or other, after a few
minutes' conversation you seemed to forget
all about their outward appearances. George
Eliot had a low musical voice and a very gentle,
charming way of talking, whilst with Lewes
it was just the opposite, an almost ferocious
vivacity, emphasized by his large protruding
front teeth, which fascinated you. They were
both passionately fond of music, and on more
than one occasion Lewes, standing with his
back to the fireplace, his hands in his trouser
pockets and the tails of his coat flung over his
arms, would make me sing one song after the
other, excitedly shouting, " I know it's cruel,
but go on ! "

Robert Browning, too, was a great lover of

220



xv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 221

music. There was especially one song which
he was particularly fond of and often asked
me to sing to him, an air " Rend' il sereno al
ciglio " from Handel's Sossarme, of which some-
how or other an adaptation to English words
must have existed, though I never succeeded
in tracing it in that disguise, for Browning
protested he knew the air as " Lord, remember
David." I frequently met Browning at dinner-
parties when, dinner being over, the lady of
the house would have to send the butler to
the dining-room more than once requesting
the men to join the ladies, before we could
tear ourselves away from the enchantment
of Browning's after-dinner talk.

At one of these parties I remember a repre-
sentative of the great inventor Edison dis-
playing to the astounded company the wonders
of that new invention, the phonograph, then
in its first stages, with a cylinder in place of
the present disk.

After much persuasion Browning consented
to speak into the instrument, and chose the
beginning of "How they brought the News
from Ghent." Some of the company had now
and then to prompt him until at last, impatient,
he burst out into the words, " Bother I've
forgotten it." After a while the cylinder
was placed from the receiving into the re-



222 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xv

producing instrument, and the awe and wonder
with which we listened to the reproduction
of Browning's voice, with him standing there
among us, was turned into great hilarity when
after a while from the uncanny thing there
issued forth, parrot-like, the half-angry, half-
amused exclamation above recorded.

Frederick Leighton, most accomplished and
fascinating of men, was another of those who
looked upon music as a never-failing source
of joy and recreation. The musical evenings
at his famous studio were not so much parties
as services, at which Joachim, Halle, Piatti,
Mme. Norman-Neruda (later Lady Halle), and
other great instrumentalists happening to be in
London, officiated as high priests with singers
as acolytes.

Leighton' s favourite song was Schubert's
little known, beautiful, and pathetic " Nacht-
stiick," which he often requested me to sing to
him.

It will be seen that altogether I had what
they call " a beautiful time," tasting all the
joys of London life, of which the theatres
offered some of the choicest. What a glorious
period of the stage that was : Henry Irving,
Ellen Terry, the Bancrofts, the Kendals, John
Hare, Lionel Brough, Toole, Clayton, Arthur
Cecil, William Terris, Mrs. John Wood, Mrs.



xv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 223

Stirling, to which galaxy of stars a few
years later was added yet another of dazzling
brilliancy with the advent of the incompar-
able Mary Anderson whose peerless beauty as
Hermione and Perdita was a joy for ever.

Can performances like those of School,
Caste, Masks and Faces, The Queen's Shilling
ever be forgotten ? Or the bewitching loveliness
of Ellen Terry as Olivia, the touching tender-
ness of Irving as the Vicar of Wakefield ? I
do not think I have ever met a man whose
smile was sweeter than Irving's, on or off the
stage. I had the privilege of meeting him
rather frequently, and often was asked to his
fascinating little suppers on Saturday nights
after the play, and when, in 1879, he produced
an adaptation of Goethe's Faust, he did me
the honour of asking me to tell him what I
knew of the way that play was produced
in Germany and particularly how old Doring
of the Royal Playhouse in Berlin, considered
then the finest Mephistopheles on the stage,
interpreted that part. I remember, among
other things, drawing Irving's attention to the
fine scene in which Mephistopheles, hearing a
young student approach, asks Faust to lend him
his doctor's gown and, putting it on, receives
the young man in the disguise of Dr. Faust and,
as such, gives him fatherly advice which, how-



224 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xv

ever, coming as it does from the devil, is apt, and
indeed intended, to poison the mind of the unsus-
picious innocent youth whom he finally dismisses
utterly bewildered and confused, after having
written in his album the mysterious words :

Eritis sicut Deus,
Scientes bonum et malum.

Irving was delighted with the scene, of which
I must have given him a rather dramatic
description, for he wrote me afterwards : " My
dear Henschel, you would have made a splendid
actor, your ' student ' was delicious," and
decided to have it in. He played it for several
nights Norman Forbes, I remember, making as
excellent a student as did George Alexander a
fine, manly, handsome Valentine after which,
much to our regret, it had to be sacrificed,
being, as Irving said, " caviare to the public."

Having often heard people say that the
frequenting of churches no less than that of
theatres greatly aided in mastering the language
of the foreign country you happen to find your-
self in, I made it a point to go to some church
or other once in a while for the purpose of
improving my gradually increasing knowledge
of English. Soon, however, I found that listen-
ing with the ear alone renders such improve-
ment rather a slow process, and it was not



xv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 225

until after a kind providence had, one Sunday
morning in the early 'eighties, directed my
steps to the little Bedford Chapel in Blooms-
bury, now no more, which stood at the junction
of Old and New Oxford Streets, near the
Tottenham Court Road, that I began to realize
the benefit claimed for churches as a means of
linguistic education. The picture which pre-
sented itself to my eyes as I entered the chapel
stands before me now as clear and luminous
as it did then.

It was a lovely spring morning. A broad
shaft of sunlight pierced the religious dimness
of the sanctuary crowded with worshippers,
over the heads of which it fell straight upon
the pulpit, and in the pulpit there stood as
magnificent a man as I had ever beheld in
my life. In a voice full of sympathy and
emotion and wonderfully capable of modula-
tion I heard the words ring out through the
deep stillness, " Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou
that killest the prophets, thou that stonest
them which are sent unto thee," and I stood
spellbound. Not a word of the beautiful
sermon, uttered with rare eloquence, dramatic
to a degree, but never even verging on the
theatrical, escaped me, and Sunday after Sunday
I went to sit at the feet of this great poet-
preacher, Stopford Brooke. Imagine there-

Q



226 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xv

fore my delight when, only a few months after
that first experience, I met him face to face.
It was at the house of friends where I had been
asked to dine one night, and as the butler
opened the door to usher me into the drawing-
room, there, to my joy, stood the admired man
talking to the lady of the house, who at once
introduced me to him. A concert at which
he had heard me sing served as the subject
of a conversation cut short by the announce-
ment of dinner at which, however, lucky
fellow that I was, I had been placed opposite
him. If, some weeks before, his powers as a
preacher had fairly carried me away, I was
now utterly captivated by the irresistible
charm of the man, simple, warm - hearted,
broad-minded, cheerful, beautifully human. A
closer talk after dinner was soon followed by
an invitation to dine with him, and our ac-
quaintance gradually developed, in spite of
the disparity of age he was my senior by
seventeen years, into a friendship which en-
dured to the end of his full and splendid life
thirty-four years later, a friendship which has
been, as its memory is now, a source of infinite
delight, profit, and help to me. Many an un-
forgettable hour I spent in the cosy den at
the top of his house in Manchester Square,
where, surrounded by his beloved books and



xv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 227

flowers, of which latter there always was an
abundance in variously shaped vases and glasses
of all sizes about him, he loved to work or, in
his leisure hours, comfortably reclining on a
couch by the fireplace and enjoying the fragrant
weed he was exceedingly fond of, to receive
and talk with his friends, none of whom I am
sure ever left that room without being the
better for the privilege of his invigorating
company. And what a poet he was ! His
love drama Riquet of the Tuft, of which I
shall never forget a charming performance
by his daughters one night at his house,
is a poem of rare tenderness and imagin-
ation, interspersed with lyrics of exquisite
beauty.

Take, for instance, Riquet' s song :

O long ago, when Faery-land
Arose newborn, King Oberon
Walked pensive on the yellow strand,
And wearied, for he lived alone.

" Why have I none," he said, " to love ? "
When soft a wind began to fleet
Across the moonlit sea, and drove
A lonely shallop to his feet.

Of pearl, and rubies red, and gold,
That shell was made, and in it lay
Titania, fast asleep, and rolled
In roses, and in flowers of May.



228 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xv

He waked her with a loving kiss,
Her arms around him softly clung ;
And none can ever tell the bliss
These had when Faery-land was young.

If there are many finer in the English
language, I should like to know them.

Altogether Stopford Brooke was a great per-
sonality. Love was the keystone of his nature.
Love and an indomitable Faith. Who can
without emotion read his last letter to me the
letter of a man past eighty-four written on
Christmas Eve 1915, only a few months before
his death ? It runs :

MY DEAR FRIEND All good wishes, happy greetings
and dear love, and every blessing from Him who
loves us and lives for us, be with you and yours on
Christmas Day. Think of me then and of our
constant friendship, and give my love to your wife
and Georgina. I am fairly well, and shall have
some of my family with me. This is a brief letter,
but it carries a deal of love with it. Ever affection-
ately yours S. A. B.

It is good to think of him in the last years
of his rich life upheld by this Love and Faith,
unimpaired in mind and body, enjoying to
the full the peace of the beautiful home he
built for himself and a devoted daughter on
one of the sweetest spots in Surrey where, in
the garden among the trees and flowers he
loved, his ashes are laid.



xv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 229

" At last," to quote the end of his own
deep-felt sermon on the Fourth Psalm, one of
the series delivered in the spring of 1910 at
Rosslyn Chapel, Hampstead, the church of
his friend, the Rev. Henry Gow, " At last
and may this be our blest experience all is
rest. The storm within has been made a calm.
We have reached our haven after the tempest,
and the ship of life lies under sheltering cliffs
upon the glassy waters. Soft are the airs and
still the evening sky above the soul, and from
the land beyond the music of the heavenly
host is heard. ' I will lay me down in peace,'
the poet cries, ' and take my rest. It is thou,
Lord, only that makest me dwell in safety.'

" So let it be with us, in this our later time,
when trouble is doubled on our head. And
then, when after many days the last and
loneliest trouble arrives and the house of earthly
life, dissolving, feels wave after wave of weak-
ness break in that final storm upon the outward
man, and the great shadow creeps on, while
as yet its under edge is not coloured with the
rosy dawn which rises behind it, in that cold
hour between the old and the new, when the
known is gliding from our grasp and the un-
known is rending the hush in which the new
life lies as yet unfolded, when all that is out-
ward is undergoing this supreme disturbance



230 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xv

within, as before in the lesser storms of life,
there is unspeakable peace. The light of God's
countenance is lifted on the waiting soul. The
eyes of faith are radiant with it. Gladness
beyond all earth's measure fills our heart, and
in the silence we say our kind farewell to earth.
The coming life arises even in the arms of
death, and immortal joy begins its reign.
Light deepens, infinite light. Then, on the
verge of the eternal day, in that swift passage
from the life of earth to the life of heaven,
even while we die, we cry to our Father ' I
will lay me down in peace and take my rest.' '



XVI

CONSIDERING the great fame to which the
subject of a little incident in my early London
days attained only a few years after it had
occurred, I trust I am justified in thinking it of
sufficient interest to find a place in these pages.
I was sitting in my room in Chandos Street
early one morning in the year 1879, when a
letter was brought up to me, signed by Messrs.
Harper Brothers, the American publishers, in-
forming me that their firm intended publishing
in an early number of Harper's Magazine an
article on " Musicians in London," which
among other illustrations was to contain a
reproduction of my portrait by Alma Tadema,
exhibited in February of that year at the
Grosvenor Gallery. In that letter I was asked
to " kindly permit " bearer, a " young American
artist," to make a drawing of my London
" studio " as an additional illustration to the
article mentioned. The " kind permission " was,
needless to say, readily granted. My " Show
the gentleman in, please," was soon followed

231



232 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvi

by the appearance in my room of a short,
thick-set, powerful young man, with a pair of
very bright, clever eyes and a charming smile,
who after the exchange of a few words and my
invitation to make himself at home, went to
work at once, begging me not to notice his
presence. Before long, however, we were en-
gaged in a lively conversation which his ver-
satility he also seemed to be very fond of
music his ready wit, and a sort of dry humour,
rendered exceedingly enjoyable to me. Before
luncheon the little study of my study was
done, an excellent, wonderfully finished, de-
tailed, very clever pencil drawing. I expressed
the hope of soon meeting him again, and he
left me his card : EDWIN A. ABBEY. That
drawing, cut in wood it was before the time
of photographic illustrations can be found in
the February number of Harper's Magazine
of 1880, and when after many years the
famous painter wished to present me with the
original, it had somehow or other disappeared ;
at any rate Messrs. Harper Brothers could not
produce it, much to our regret.

Years afterwards, in 1888, I made in a
hardly less original way the acquaintance of
another man who to-day holds a high position
in the art-world.

It was at the Accademia delle Belle Arti in



xvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 233

Florence, through the glorious rooms of which
I was walking one morning, that my attention
was attracted by a modestly attired young man
standing before a huge easel on a scaffold and
copying a large altar-painting by Andrea del
Sarto. I had watched him already from a
distance, as he appeared to be particularly
earnestly absorbed in his work, and in coming
nearer to him I was greatly struck by the
uncommon freedom of his manner of copying.
Most of the people who copy pictures in galleries
you see bending over their work, evidently
intent upon slavish imitation. This young
man seemed to be looking at his objects four
over-life-size saints as at living models, and
having taken in just what he wanted for the
moment, boldly putting his impressions on the
canvas before him, spontaneously, as it were,
with the result that his copy, besides being
truthful in every detail, seemed to breathe
the very spirit of the original; to such an
extent indeed, that to-day, looking at it
with the colours in these twenty-nine years
mellowed down to a rich maturity, one would
find it difficult to realise one was standing
before a copy. Well, I thought how beautiful
that picture would look hanging in the hall
of my house in Bedford Gardens, which I had
taken only a few months before, and ventured



234 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvi

to address the young man, asking him whether
in making that copy he was perhaps executing
an order. His answer being, " No, he was
doing it merely as a study," I went further :
" Would he mind doing the copy for me ? v
" Not at all very pleased." The price asked
being as modest and agreeable as the young
man himself, the bargain was made there and
then. I gave him the address to which to send
the picture, or rather pictures, for there was
another, smaller one, of two lovely " putti,"
completing the set, and he in return gave me
his card : CHARLES HOLROYD.

So I had given a commission to the future
Director of the National Gallery !

The pictures are hanging now in the music-
room of my home in the Highlands, and some
day I hope Sir Charles will come and sign
them. 1

But to return to 1879. My knowledge of
London life and London society would have
been sadly lacking in completeness without a
day at the races, and I shall never forget my
satisfaction and pride on being asked by a live
lord to be one of a party to be driven by him
on his four-in-hand to Ascot on Ladies' day.
To be perfectly in style one had to appear at

1 Since this was written, death has, alas, "untimely stopp'd"
the hand of the genial friend.



xvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 235

that function in a grey frock-coat suit, and Mr.
Arthur Chappell having soon after my arrival in
London introduced me to a firm of famous
tailors in Savile Row, I felt in duty bound to
order such a suit for the occasion. In due time
it was delivered; a grey top-hat, white spats,
and a stout pair of Negretti and Zambra glasses
in the regulation leather case to hang over the
shoulder, completed the outfit, and punctually
at the appointed hour the four-in-hand stopped
before No. 6 Chandos Street. I am sure few
people who happened to see a faultlessly attired
young swell step out of the house and climb up
to the seat behind the aristocratic driver would,
under that disguise, in which, strange to say,
I did not feel at all uncomfortable, have re-
cognized a musician, and that really quite a
decent one. I do not remember which of the
many sensations of the day I enjoyed most :
the drive to the course on that perfect spring
day, winding, after having left the streets of
the town, through lovely lanes between hedges
of briar roses, and neat little villages, over hill
and dale seeming a realisation of some of
Ralph Caldecott's charming pictures or the
picnic luncheon, or the astonishing way in
which the phalanx of policemen cleared the
course before each race as by magic, or the
races themselves the whole thing was one



236 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvi

huge excitement, a wonderful experience,
' well worth the money," which in this case
meant quite a good deal, for, needless to say,
I never wore that Ascot suit again.

Somewhere, in one of the darkest recesses
of my wardrobe, that grey coat must be lying
yet, carefully folded and discreetly packed
away, a reminder of youthful folly my Ass-
coat I called it.



XVII

IT was in March 1879 that a thing happened
to me which marked a turning-point in my
life, offering at the same time a striking
illustration of the fact that the most momentous
incidents in a man's existence are often the
result of accident.

One fine afternoon I chanced to meet in
the street the wife of the conductor of the
Philharmonic Society, Mrs. Cusins, to whom a
few days before I had sent my regrets at being
unable to accept her kind invitation to dinner
on March 9, owing to a previous engagement.
" So sorry do try to come after dinner," she
begged, " a very charming young girl from
Boston is going to sing, and we want your
opinion, too, as to whether she sings well
enough for an appearance at one of the Phil-
harmonic Concerts. . . ."

I promised to do my best, and little thought,
as on the evening of the 9th of March I entered
the Cusins' drawing-room in Nottingham Place,
that two years later, to a day, the young lady

237



238 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn

I had come to hear would be standing at my
side before the minister of the Second Church
in Boston, Massachusetts, who pronounced us
man and wife. Of course Lillian Bailey sang
well enough for a first appearance in England
at the Philharmonic, which took place soon
afterwards. Indeed I doubt if ever at those
venerable concerts a girl of nineteen had met
with a more cordial reception. In the second
part of the programme she had in the mean-
time become my pupil I had the privilege
of joining her in the duet " Caro "-" Bella "
from Handel's Giulio Cesare, and when, a few
weeks later, at one of those charitable Guild
dinners in the City we repeated that duet, and
the stentorian voice of the Toast-master com-
manded " Silence for Miss Lillian Bailey and
' Her ' (his way of pronouncing ' Herr ')
Henschel," he was not very far out. In July
of the year following the good ship Australia
of the Anchor Line, sailing from Victoria
Docks, London, to New York, had on board
Mr. and Mrs. Bailey, Master Hayden Bailey,
Miss Bailey and, indeed, " Her " Henschel.

A journey across the Atlantic was, thirty-
seven years ago, considered quite an undertak-
ing ; to such an extent even that, for instance,
when a young American girl embarked on her
first visit to Europe, her friends would send a



xvn MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 239

bundle of letters to the purser with the request
to deliver to her one of them on every day of
the voyage. People, after the boat had left her
berth, unpacked and prepared themselves for
a more or less comfortable sojourn, on board, of
nine or ten days or even, as in our case, a full
fortnight.

To enable my younger readers of the present
generation fully to realise the difference of a
crossing then from what it is now, I give here
verbatim the description in the Times of April
1914, of the then newest and largest British
steamer, 950 feet long and of 58,000 tons :

Public rooms comprise magnificently appointed
dining-saloon, Ritz-Carlton restaurant, a reproduc-
tion of the Ritz-Carlton in New York ; tea-room,
verandah cafe, palm gardens, a luxuriously appointed
ball-room, equipped with a stage for theatrical
performances. The state-rooms (fitted with marble
washstands and running water), public saloons,
staircases, four electric passenger elevators, and
decks are remarkable for their spaciousness. There
are also electric, turkish and steam baths, gym-
nasium, fitted with the latest Zander apparatus, and
swimming bath, decorated in Pompeian style. ..."

Now our dear old Australia was three
thousand tons, that is to say, of about the size
of a Flushing or Harwich boat of to-day. The
dining-saloon was a compartment fitted with
one table only, to seat about twenty-five people,



240 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn

and the sleeping cabins, also called " state-
rooms," were situated all around it, so that, if
I wanted to get from my seat at the dining-
table into my cabin, all I had to do was to give
a turn to the revolving chair, get up, step
across, and there I was. In fair weather that
was all right. But in a storm imagine the
sensations of those obliged, for obvious reasons,
to remain in the seclusion of their cabins, with
the odour, at meal-times, of food in their
nostrils and the sound of rattling china and
clinking glasses in their ears ; or, on the other
hand, the feelings of the more fortunate, brave
diners, eating their meals to the accompani-
ment of the piteous groans emanating from
the suffering victims in the surrounding cabins !
Some of our London friends had sent us
various delicacies on board, whilst I myself,
acting on the advice of experienced ocean-
travellers, had a case of champagne put on
board for me, as the wine-list, I was told,
showed only sherry, port, and one sort of red
and one of white wine, all the same price.
The journey proved to be an excellent and
rather interesting one. A smooth summer sea
and the exceedingly low speed of the vessel
made the motion hardly perceptible, and there-
fore highly enjoyable, and when for two days,
owing to something having gone wrong with



xvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 241

the engines which had to be repaired, we had
to have recourse to the sails all ships still
carrying sails then the sensation was really
delightful. Half way over the weather grew
quite tropical it was August and we sighted
a great number of whales, of which I distinctly
remember one alarmingly near us, turning his
enormous bulk round and round as if playing,
and sending huge columns of water high up
into the air.

There were a good many emigrants on board,
among them a large number of Polish Jews,
and one day there was great excitement, and
a vague rumour reached our ears of a revolt
in the steerage on account of the food. Now
the food and cooking in the first cabin being
really remarkably good, and the master of the
vessel a very humane, kind-hearted man, we
thought there must be a mistake, and sure
enough when the deputation of the emigrants,
headed by a man carrying a dish of what to
us looked like very nice, appetising food, laid
their complaints before the captain, the speaker
indignantly exclaiming, " Look here, sir, this
is what they give us sour peas," it was
found that not one of them had ever seen or
tasted that excellent and savoury dish known
as " Boiled mutton and caper-sauce " !

Rather amusing, too, was a transaction I

R



242 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvii

had with my steward there were no separate
sets of them for table and cabin on the early
morning of the fourteenth day out. We had,
of course, sighted land the night before, and
now I asked him at what time we should be
likely to land. " About ten o'clock, sir."

" How many bottles of my champagne are
there left ? "

" One, sir."

Knowing I should not be allowed to take it
ashore without paying a heavy duty, if at all,
I generously said, " You may keep that for
yourself."

" Thank you, sir."

Well ten o'clock came half -past eleven
. . . eight bells announced mid-day, and there
was still a good deal of water between the
Australia and her berth in New York harbour.
From moment to moment the scene became
more picturesque and lovely. It was an ideal
summer's day, August 12th, a brilliant sun,
high up in the " raw, bleeding sky," as Henry
James calls it, tempered by a lovely breeze ;
our boat looking spick and span with the decks
scrupulously scrubbed, the brass neatly polished,
the woodwork freshly painted, the awnings
stretched across the decks ; innumerable little
craft shooting merrily over the steel-blue
waters, huge three-deck ferry-boats furrowing



xvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 243

their way from one shore to the other, their
whistles, tuned in harmonious chords, making
joyful sounds all fitting in wonderfully with
the expectant joy in the hearts of the affianced
couple on board.

" There will be luncheon in the saloon at
half-past one," was the message the steward
brought us.

Luncheon ..." Champagne ! " it flashed in-
stantly through my brain. This would be the
very time for it, to celebrate my first arrival
in the New World. But the only champagne
on board was my own, and that I had given
away ! To ask the steward to let me have it
back was of course out of the question. So
what could be done ? I called him to me :
" I say, will you sell me that bottle of cham-
pagne ? r '

" Yes, sir," with a merry smile.

" How much ? "

" I leave that to you, sir."

And we had champagne for our luncheon,
excellent champagne, at fancy only a dollar
the bottle !

How can I adequately describe my first
impressions of New York ? Here was indeed
another world, utterly and completely different
from anything I had seen before or imagined,
and those who only know the New York of



244 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn

to-day will hardly be able to credit the state-
ment that no more than thirty-seven years ago
it looked more like a huge village than an
important town. Broadway, its main business
street, was only partially paved. Of the un-
sightly telegraph poles alongside of it, placarded
all over with advertisements, not two were
standing upright, some leaning to one side,
some to the other ; dirty little yellow cars,
drawn by small, bony horses, passed wearily
along the row of warehouses between which
there were still a goodly number of wooden
shanties, painted in all kinds of impossible
colours ; wooden planks still constituted here
and there the side - walks ; at nearly every
second corner there was a " saloon " with its
double swing-doors, characteristic in that they
reached only half-way down to the ground,
so that from outside the various legs of the
people at the bar could be seen, but not their
heads. Lumbering old stage-coaches plodded
on, bumping and thumping over the slightly
undulating muddy road strange sights, all of
these. To this busy thoroughfare the quiet
dignity and elegance of " Fifth Avenue," with
its brown-stone-front houses, formed a remark-
able contrast, and as to dear old Washington
Square, made immortal by Henry James'
classical novel of that name, it seemed a



xvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 245

veritable patrician next to Broadway the
plebeian. At 59th Street, the beginning of
Central Park, the town practically ended, and
I remember a little hut among trees, and cows
grazing before it, on the site where now the
Savoy Hotel stands. Through some of the
streets the Elevated Railroad wended its way
to the South Ferry, which carried you over
the river to Brooklyn, whither every Sunday
the great preacher and orator, Henry Ward
Beecher, attracted so great a number of people
that he was justified in answering a lady who
asked him for directions as to how to find his
church, " Take the Ferry and when you get
out, follow the crowd." His eloquence was
indeed marvellous. Not only what he had to
say and said, but the electrifying way in which
he gave utterance to it, was what fairly carried
the people away, and I remember one Sunday
his sternly rebuking his congregation for actually
bursting into applause, as in a theatre, after
one of his impassioned sentences. The music
in American churches, often, I am bound with
great regret to say, rather secular and un-
worthy, is generally supplied by a vocal solo-
quartet, supported by the organ. The organist
at Beecher 's Church was then a young man,
Robert Thallon, a fellow - student of mine in
the old Leipsic days. His parents, dear old



246 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn

Scots people, had when quite young emigrated
to the States, where Robert was born. During
my first visit to the States I was for a few days
their guest in Brooklyn, and one incident of
my Visit is, I think, worth mentioning here as
an illustration of the strange fact that when a
man in the full possession of all his senses is
suddenly and momentarily deprived of the use
of one of them, the others, also momentarily,
seem paralysed or to lose their keenness. Old
Mr. Thallon, to set up his son in the profession,
had furnished the young musician's studio,
where he was to teach, with two brand-new
grand pianofortes of the same makers, and I
was invited to try them, which I did. They
were indeed magnificent specimens of the piano-
maker's art, and I expressed my delight and
admiration in the most glowing terms, re-
marking at the same time that the one next
to the window was even better than the other,
having an easier touch and a still mellower,
rounder, sweeter tone. " Do you really think
there is any difference," asked Mr. Thallon,
wondering what could possibly account for such
a thing, as both instruments had been finished
and had left the same factory on the same day.
I could, of course, not explain it, but, trying the
pianos again, was even more sure than before
that the one next to the window was the finer



xvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 247

instrument of the two. " Now do you think,"
asked Mr. Thallon, " you could distinguish them
from each other blindfolded ? " I laughed to
scorn any idea of doubt on the subject (how
glad I am that neither the Thallons nor I were
of the betting kind !) but readily agreed to
submit to the task, extracting from my friends
as the only condition the assurance that I should
not be placed before the same piano twice.

Securely and effectively blindfolded, and, in
addition, with my eyes tightly closed beneath
the bandage, I was in deepest, blackest dark-
ness led to one of the pianos and played on it.
Immediately I had made up my mind as to
which of them I was playing on. Then I was
conducted to the other. I sat down and played
played played again, and was confused.
6 You are not deceiving me ? " I asked, " I
have played both pianos ? ' : Old Mr. Thallon
pledged his word of honour. I begged to be
allowed to try once more both pianos. To make
a long story short, not if my life had depended
on it could I have told the difference.

How can this be explained ? Could it
possibly have been that when I played the two
instruments with all my senses unimpaired, the
greater light in which one of them that by
the window stood, had affected my judgment
in regard to it ? The experience certainly was



248 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn

so remarkable and strange that I think it would
be worth while for a man of science to make
similar experiments with a view to solving
what to me seemed quite an extraordinary
phenomenon.

On my way to Haydenville in Massachusetts,
the old homestead of my fiancee's family on
the mother's side, I made a few days' halt
in Boston, whither the Baileys had removed
from Columbus in Ohio, the birthplace of their
daughter, when that young lady was quite a
little child.

" How otherwise upon me works this sign ! "
I could exclaim with Goethe's Faust. How
different the impression Boston made on me
as compared to that of New York ! In the first
place the streets had names, not numbers.
'Somehow or other " Mount Vernon Street,"
"Boylston Street," " Tremont Street" does
sound more homely than East 10th or West
llth, practical as the latter denomination may
perhaps be from a commercial standpoint.
And then the " down-town," i.e. business part of
the city : narrow streets and crooked lanes, a
dear old church with a beautiful portico, still
called the "King's Chapel," the old State-
house, with the Lion and the Unicorn still in
its gable, the " Old Corner Book-store," and
numerous other old-world landmarks all this



xvn MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 249

made me feel quite at home. And indeed only
a little more than a year later Boston did
become a home where I was to spend three
happy and prosperous years.

How this came about I will tell when I
return from England, whither I had to sail
before long, to sing at the Leeds Festival.
London in September being what they call
" empty," I did not expect to find any of my
friends there, and was therefore doubly glad
when, stopping at Queenstown and the mail
being brought on board together with the
customary fresh supply of fish people who
after a week's voyage from New York have
experienced the delight of a meal on freshly
caught " Prime English Sole " will appreciate
this reference to an eagerly looked - for and
most welcome change in the ship's bill of fare,
there was among my letters one from Dr.
Schlesinger, characteristic of his never-failing
humour :

" MY DEAR FRIEND," he writes, " Of all the people
whom you had left behind, I am the only one that
has held out in London till now. The horrid Orient
question, to which I am sure neither you nor Lillian
have ever given a thought, kept me tied here, whilst
the other friends were roaming through the world
and my wife is attempting an ascent of Mont-Blanc. 1
Gradually the travellers return. You too, dear
1 His way of intimating that his wife was in Switzerland.



250 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn

fugitive, even if only for a short time. Welcome to
old Europe. With the exception of the Cologne
Cathedral which, at considerable expense and trouble,
I have completed in your absence, you will find
everything pretty much as you left it : the climate,
morals, Sir Julius (Benedict), the British constitution,
the Archbishop of Canterbury, the noble art of
music. Tadema has had his floors so scrubbed and
polished as to make them accessible only to moun-
taineers accustomed to glacier - climbing. Sylvia 1
is more reckless than ever ; the old Kaiser getting
younger, Mrs. J. . . . prettier, I older and the Greek
question more complicated from day to day. To
escape the fogs we are going to Brighton where various
arms are always open for your reception. Myself
however you will find most days of the week in town,
either at my office in the Strand or at the Garrick
or else worshipping in some modest little church. 2
Let me see your face before you swim back to your
Lillian and the redskins of the West. ..."

To Brighton, therefore, at that time perhaps
even more than it is now the favourite resort
of busy Londoners in want of a change of air
and surroundings, I went, glad ever after for
having done so, for I was never again to see
the face of the dear, genial friend who died
a few months later whilst I was in Boston.
Thither I hurried after the Leeds Festival,
equipped with letters of introduction from

1 One of his daughters, a charming young lady of a particularly
gentle and retiring disposition.

2 I doubt if he had ever been inside one for that purpose.



xvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 251

Robert Browning to Charles Perkins, a Boston
philanthropist, and from Lord Houghton to
Longfellow. Lord Houghton, one of the house-
party at Elmete Hall, Sir James Kitson's seat
near Leeds, where I, too, was staying during
the Festival week, had greatly impressed me,
not only by his personality, which without
an actual resemblance somehow reminded me
of the famous Seneca bust in Naples, but also
by the animation and wit of his conversation
and by the peculiarly clear and precise manner
in which he gave utterance, now and then in
a poetical phrase, to what he had to say.



XVIII

ACCREDITED by such people to their friends in
the new world, I was now doubly eager to
return to Boston, which had already attracted
me so much at first sight. Renowned as a
seat of learning Cambridge with its Harvard
University being practically part of it, it was
then not only the home of men like Longfellow,
Oliver Wendell Holmes, William Dean Howells,
Thomas Bailey Aldrich, James Russell Lowell,
Henry James, then still " jr.," but also acknow-
ledged as the musical centre of the United
States. Among the numerous institutions
which provided the good people of Boston with
music of the best kind were the still flourishing
Handel and Haydn Society, originally founded
for the performance of choral works of the two
masters whose names it bore, and the Harvard
Musical Society, both under the conductorship
of Carl Zerrahn, an able and conscientious
Kapellmeister of the good old German type.
The members of the orchestra of the Harvard
Musical Society had grown old with it, a fact

252



xvm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 253

which naturally led to a gradual lessening of
the technical and intellectual power of in-
terpretation and, consequently, to a decrease
of attraction as regards the public. Their last
orchestral concert of the season 1880-81
happening to fall upon a date only a week or
two previous to my marriage to Miss Bailey,
she and I thought it would be a nice thing
to offer our joint services as soloists on that
occasion. The offer was made and gratefully
accepted and, as a counter-compliment, I was
asked to conduct, at that same concert, one
of my own works. I chose a MS. Concert-
Overture in D Minor, an early and rather poor
composition which, after its subsequent per-
formance in London under Hans Richter a
year or so later, I promptly destroyed.
Whether it was that I had succeeded in im-
parting some of my youthful enthusiasm to
the aged band, or that the players were deter-
mined to show the newcomer what they were
capable of in an emergency, the performance
certainly went exceedingly well, and had not
only considerable success but, as will be seen,
far-reaching consequences.

There was among the audience on that night
one who, although a keen business man, partner
in the old-established, highly respected banking
firm of Lee Higginson & Co., had a very deep



254 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvm

affection for music, in fact had as a young man
spent some time in Vienna for the purpose of
studying that art with a view to making it
in the first place through the means of the
pianoforte his profession, and only been pre-
vented from carrying out his intention by an
accident to one of his arms. Colonel Henry
Lee Higginson for after his return from Vienna
he had served in the United States Volunteers
during the Civil War, becoming Major and
Brevet Lt.-Colonel in the 1st Massachusetts
Cavalry, and being severely wounded at Aldie
in Virginia in 1863 was and, I am happy to
add, still is one of those high-minded, public-
spirited men of whom any community might
well be proud. Fearless, just, kind, upright,
and honourable in every fibre of his being, he
cared for the good of the Commonwealth as
much as for that of his own flesh and blood.
His wife, a daughter of the great scientist,
Louis Agassiz, was one of a small circle of
ladies who held what in France they call a
" salon," at whose afternoon teas the repre-
sentatives resident or transitory of art and
science, music and literature, used to meet and
discuss the events and questions of the day.
These highly cultured women, among whom I
recall with delight dear old Mrs. Julia Ward
Howe, the authoress of that stirring battle-



xviii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 255

hymn of the Republic, " Mine eyes have seen
the glory of the Coming of the Lord," Mrs.
George D. Howe, witty Mrs. Bell and her
sister, Mrs. Pratt, Mrs. John L. familiarly
Mrs. Jack Gardner, were the leaders of what
certainly was society in the highest and best
meaning of the word. Mrs. Gardner, by the
way, afterwards built that wonderful Italian
palace, " Fenway Court," in Boston, a unique
manifestation in stone of genius in woman,
demonstrating what a discriminating love and
knowledge of art, combined with perseverance
and wealth, and united in and guided by one
and the same mind, can accomplish.

Mentioning the name of Julia Ward Howe
recalls to my mind an incident during my
Boston days which, considering its consequences,
will, I think, be deemed of more than local
interest.

Among the young men living in Boston in
the early 'eighties there was a nephew of Mrs.
Howe's who seemed to have given his aunt
and his guardians his parents were both dead
considerable anxiety as to his future. He
was of extraordinary physical beauty both as
regards face and figure. So might a Greek
statue of a Roman youth have looked, come to
life and put into modern clothes, and I wonder
if this fact may not perhaps to some extent



256 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvm

have accounted for his seeming somewhat
spoiled, very likely by doting relatives and
admiring friends, especially of the fair sex.
Certain it was that all efforts to make him
work and choose a profession appeared to have
failed so far. The last attempt in this direc-
tion had been journalism in India, from which
country the young man had just returned at
the time I met him, handsomer and more
unemployed than ever. Mrs. Howe and others
interested in him, among them an uncle of his,
were at a loss to know what to do with him,
whose tastes in dress and food, and living
altogether, were sadly out of proportion to his
means of gratifying them, when it suddenly
occurred to some of them that perhaps he
might become a professional singer, for he had
a certain amount of musical talent and was
possessed of a baritone voice of good compass
and rather agreeable quality, having, I heard,
often given pleasure to a small company of
friends, by the singing of an occasional Schubert
song. So I was approached in the matter.
After being made fully to understand and
appreciate the seriousness and importance of
the question and the responsibility which
rested on them and me, I was asked to hear
him sing, test his musical and vocal capabilities,
and give my opinion as to the advisability of



xviii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 257

his studying music and singing in particular
with a view to making a profession of it. The
young man himself was very keen on the
subject, and it was with genuine regret that,
after hearing and thoroughly examining him,
I had to break to him my conviction that it
would be of no use : he could not sing, nor, in
my opinion, be made to sing, in perfect tune,
and must give up all dreams of ever becoming
a singer or of making a living by music. His
disappointment at seeing shattered what seemed
his last hope for he was getting on in years,
being then twenty-seven was pathetic. His
handsome eyes, dimmed with tears, seemed to
look into the future with something like despair,
and I could not help being truly sorry for him,
little thinking that my verdict would prove a
blessing in disguise. We went together to his
aunt, with whom was the aforesaid uncle.
After my report on the fatal examination there
was a sad silence. Then the uncle said to the
downcast young man, " Why don't you write
down that little story you told me some time
ago of that strange experience you had in India
don't you know ? . . ." Somehow or other
the suggestion seemed to commend itself to the
nephew, who parted from me hopeful and with
my best wishes. That was in January 1882.

At Christmas of that year the novel-reading

s



258 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvm

public of Great Britain and the United States
were devouring a little book, Mr. Isaacs, by
F. Marion Crawford, and when, many years
later, I met the author in Sorrento, where his
steadily growing success had enabled him to
surround himself with all the comfort and
luxury of a beautiful home, he gratefully re-
minded me of that awful afternoon in Boston,
when my stern decree had unconsciously laid
the foundation of it.

It was at the house of Mrs. Geo. D. Howe
that, a few days after that concert of the
Harvard Musical Society, Colonel Higginson
asked me to meet him ; and there, in a few
words, as was his wont, he revealed to me
his plan of establishing in Boston, on a firm,
financial basis, an annual series of orchestral
concerts on a large scale, and asked me if,
eventually, I would undertake to form the new
orchestra and be its first conductor. There
would be no committee. I would be my own
master as regards the making of the pro-
grammes, number of rehearsals, indeed in every
respect. He also hinted at a very substantial
salary, being, as he remarked, sensible of the
fact that such a position would naturally not
leave me as free to earn as much by my singing
as would otherwise be the case.

The offer was a very tempting one, especially



xvm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 259

since the regular conducting of a big symphony
orchestra had for a long time been one of my
ambitions, but there was the question of casting
myself perhaps for good adrift from so much
that was dear to me in Europe, and I begged
to be allowed to think the matter over.

Two days after my marriage, it was in
Washington, where part of our honeymoon was
spent, I received a telegram from Colonel
Higginson, followed by a letter, in which he
definitely offered me the post. And since we
had already in our first interview agreed that
it would be better for us not to bind ourselves
for more than a year, thus giving, after the
expiration of it, each of us the option of either
renewing or discontinuing the agreement, I
accepted. All details were settled upon after
my return to Boston. I engaged the members
of the orchestra, selecting them, at Mr. Higgin-
son's very wise suggestion, as nearly as possible
from those of the old Harvard Society and
among other local players, so as not to arouse
too much opposition.

During my visit to Germany I bought a
very extensive orchestral library, taking great
pleasure and pride in personally indexing and
cataloguing the nearly three hundred works I
had acquired. Rehearsals commenced early in
October, and on the 22nd of that month



260 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvm

the " Boston Symphony Orchestra," as with
Colonel Higginson's assent I had christened
it, was launched on its public career and I
became, for the time being, a resident of the
United States.



XIX

How different an aspect things assume when
looked at from different points of view ! To
see a foreign country as a visitor of a few weeks
is one thing; to find oneself established in it
and move among its people as one of their
number, quite another. I had to get accus-
tomed to many things which at first simply
amused me, as, for instance, the familiarity
with which people or perhaps I should rather
say men treated each other, independent of
their social status. Things may have changed
since then, but I remember an incident which
furnishes a particularly striking illustration of
that trait in the American of forty years ago.
It was in one of those little yellow horse-tram-
cars in New York. A man had just entered
the car, and in handing his fare to the conductor
asked to be put down at the corner of "So-
and-so Street." The conductor looked puzzled ;
doubtfully repeating the name of the street, he
shook his head and, after a little more thinking,
turned to us other men in the car with the

261



262 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xix

question : " Does any one of you chaps know
So - and - so Street ? " Fancy such a thing
happening in a London bus !

In referring once to some member of the
household staff in the old Haydenville establish-
ment as " servant," that word was gently
corrected into " help," a circumstance which
with considerable amusement I recollected
when calling, twenty-five years later, upon a
friend staying at one of the newest, up-to-
date hotels in New York, and seeing with my
own eyes half-a-dozen powdered " helps "' in
gorgeous liveries, loitering in the lobby !

In some private houses and most of the
hotels then they had " coloured help," or in
other words, negro servants, and somehow or
other you didn't mind their familiarity half as
much as that of white people. On one occasion
it was vastly exhilarating. My wife and I
were staying at a hotel in Philadelphia, and,
having a recital in the evening, took our dinner
in the public dining-room, but by ourselves,
two hours before the official dinner-hour. We
were the only guests in the room, and had the
honour of being served by the head waiter, a
highly elegant, faultlessly attired, nice-looking,
polite negro. He was scrupulously attentive
to us, and must have known our identity, for
when we had finished our meal and got up to



xix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 263

leave the room, he courteously removed our
chairs, and, a broad smile brightening up his
countenance in which, but for the duskiness
of it, I am sure I would have been able to
discover a faint blush, said to us : "I hope
you'll have a great success to-night I've been
in the show-business myself" !

There was another negro servant at the
famous " Fifth Avenue Hotel," then the premier
hotel of New York, now a memory, whose
business it was to stand at the door of the
dining-room and take the hats of the gentlemen
as they passed into it at meal-times. Often
he must have handled in that way from two
to three hundred hats within an hour, but
though he never gave number-checks for them,
merely taking the hat and placing it on one of
the numerous receptacles for that purpose, he
would unostentatiously hand back his hat to
each guest as he left the room after the meal,
without ever being known to make a mistake.
A friend of mine would hardly believe such a
feat of memory possible, and on having one
day personally convinced himself of the fact,
could not resist asking the man, " I say, how
on earth do you know this is my hat ? ' " I
don't know this is your hat, sir," was the quick
reply, " I only know it's the hat you gave me."

Speaking of hotels my curiosity as to why



264 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xix

to every one of them there should be, as was
the case, a separate " Ladies' Entrance," gener-
ally through a side-door, was not long in being
gratified. To try to reach the clerk's counter
of a hotel by the ordinary front door meant
pushing one's way through a crowd of " gentle-
men " in the lobby, half their number, during
the hot season, in their shirt sleeves; some
standing about in groups, toothpick in mouth,
some sitting or rather lying on rocking-chairs,
with their feet on the window-sills or radiators,
smoking, or chewing tobacco or gum or else
the suspicious coffee-bean, with a " spittoon "
in safe proximity, the latter however a com-
modity which, to judge from the unmistakable
circumstantial evidence on the floor, appeared,
by some of the more Bohemian, that is to say
less refined customers, to be considered rather
a time-wasting luxury. Never before in my
life had I seen so many business men gathered
together, all intently engaged in the pursuit of
doing nothing. Loafing seemed to have become
a fine art ; and of the way really busy people
had to guard against its being practised in
their offices, my friend, John Thallon, Robert's
brother, a well-to-do merchant, one day afforded
me an opportunity of seeing a rather striking
exemplification. I had been invited by him
to inspect his business premises in New York,



xix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 265

and being shown through the different depart-
ments and rooms, I noticed every now and
then a neat little placard suspended in con-
spicuous places, from hanging-lamps or nails in
the wall, bearing, in clear, large type, the
mysterious legend " Please don't look at my
back ! "

" What does this mean ? " I asked, handling
one of them. " Well, turn it over ! " I did,
and was highly amused to read on the other
side, printed in large type, the words : " Don't
you think it's about time to go ? "

" You see," Thallon said, " really busy
people have no time to notice these cards. It
is only men who come here without any genuine
business purpose, hanging about the place and
stealing my time, who, disregarding the warning
on the front of the placard, cannot resist looking
at the reverse. The result is most gratifying.
They generally sneak away after a minute or
two, and my office knows them no more." I
thought this little device exceedingly clever, a
very happy combination of Scottish shrewdness
and American humour.

Travelling, too, had its amusing sides. Not
infrequently you had to put up with so-called
conveniences which, especially to people ac-
customed to European ways, turned out to be
so many nuisances.



266 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xix

I don't know whether the custom is still
flourishing, but in the early 'eighties a train
had hardly left the platform of the starting-
station, called the " Depot," when itinerant
hawkers commenced to proceed from one end
of the train to the other, calling out their wares :
apples, pop-corn, bananas, pea-nuts, molasses-
candies, chicken-sandwiches, chewing-gum, and,
worst of all, " the latest novels " (generally
pronounced " nav'ls "). The latter they would
actually place on unwary, defenceless pas-
sengers' knees and leave them there until their
return journey through the car. I remember
Henry James telling me how, exasperated by
the vile practice, he once, without a word,
making a catapult of his thumb and index-
finger, precipitated one of the obnoxious volumes
which had been deposited on his knees, on to
the floor of the carriage, as you would an
offensive insect or an objectionable crumb,
whereupon the imperturbable young Autolycus
picked it up and, half pityingly, half disdain-
fully exclaimed, " Well, you ain't travelled
much ! "

And the sleeping - cars ! There were from
twelve to sixteen so-called " sections " in each
of those, as a rule, exceedingly badly ventilated
sleeping - carriages, situated on both sides of
the narrow middle passage, each section con-



xix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 267

sisting of a lower and upper berth which, when
occupied by a would-be sleeper, were curtained
off. The tickets for the berths being issued
according to priority of application, and there
being no separate sections for the two sexes, it
was no infrequent occurrence for a lady to be
seen climbing into an upper berth with a
gentleman snoring in the lower. At one end
of the car there was an open wash-room, con-
taining three or four basins ; and to see in the
early morning the male passengers, one after
the other, clad in neither coat nor waistcoat,
without collar or tie, in fact alarmingly en
neglige, nourishing a sponge or a razor or a
tooth-brush, making a dash for that wash-room,
or to watch the queue of those who, finding
the basins already in possession of other " very
imperfect ablutioners " (dear W. S. Gilbert
these three words alone would have made thee
immortal !), were waiting their turn, was a sight
to be remembered. Fortunately these cars
were provided with two little private sleeping
compartments, one at each end, and possessing
each its own toilet commodities. By engaging
one of these compartments you could, at a
considerable extra fare of course, remain by
yourself all through the journey, a privilege
of which, not caring to turn Anthropologist, 1

1 "Anthropology Study of man as an animal" (Oxford
Dictionary).



268 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xix

I was not slow in availing myself ever
after.



But to return to Boston. In the spring of
1876, when only just sixteen years old, Lillian
Bailey had made her debut there at a concert
given by Boston's leading musician, Benjamin
J. Lang, who on that occasion was assisted also
by a pianist and composer rapidly rising into
prominence Arthur Foote. These two men,
natives both of historical Salem in Massa-
chusetts, the scene of Nathaniel Hawthorne's
master romance, The Scarlet Letter, had from
that time on taken a most kindly interest in
the young lady, whose rare talent, earnestness,
and charming personality had greatly impressed
them ; and it was only natural that they should
have been the first of her many friends to whom
my young wife was anxious to introduce me.
Mr. Lang, originally a pianist, having received
his training from Liszt, Alfred Jaell, and other
masters in Germany, was organist of King's
Chapel, conductor of the Cecilia Society and
of the Apollo Club, and a much sought after
teacher of the organ and the pianoforte.
Thorough and enthusiastic musician, broad-
minded, tactful, of great general culture and a
rare kindness of heart, he was the acknowledged
leader of the musical community of Boston.



xix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 269

Arthur Foote, a graduate of Harvard, held the
post of organist at the First Unitarian Church,
and, though considerably Lang's junior, was
already then one of the foremost composers
and teachers in the States, of the growth of
whose fame beyond the boundaries of his
native continent the performance of a Trio of
his at one of the Monday Popular Concerts in
London by Sir Charles and Lady Halle and
Signor Piatti in 1887, gave most gratifying
evidence, whilst one of his many songs, the
charming and sympathetic setting of Sir Gilbert
Parker's " Irish Folk Song," has gained a world-
wide popularity. These two men exercised a
decided and most beneficent influence on the
musical life of Boston and the development of
its taste. And their friendship and generous
support from the very first, which former in
the case of the younger man has, I am happy
to say, survived to this day dear genial Mr.
Lang, alas, being no more among us will
ever be a source of deepest gratitude to me.
Indeed, I doubt if without them I should
have come out of the first season of the Boston
Symphony Orchestra alive. That the sudden
assumption of so much power in the affairs of
music in Boston by so young a man as I then
was I had just turned thirty-one and a
stranger into the bargain, would be hailed with



270 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xix

enthusiasm or meet with universal approval,
neither Mr. Higginson nor I for a moment
expected. And particularly as regards the
attitude of the press, it most decidedly was
not.



XX



THE simple and straightforward announce-
ment made by Mr. Higginson in the Boston
papers at the end of March 1881, headed " In
the Interest of Good Music," plainly stating
the accomplished fact of the establishment
of the new orchestra and giving my name as
that of its first conductor, came as a great
surprise to the general public, not wholly
agreeable, I fear, to some musicians, and
evidently a positive shock to most critics,
one of whom promptly delivered himself of
the following declaration : " Some protest is
certainly needed to stem this tide of adulation
that rises and breaks at the feet of Mr. Henschel.
We have had conductors in Boston, and good
ones. It is a mistaken idea of Mr. Henschel's
friends if not of his own that we have
waited here, all unconscious of our own poverty
and great needs, for this musical trinity com-
bined in the person of Mr. Henschel oratorio
exponent, composer and orchestral conductor.

271



272 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx

We are not, and have not been, half as ignorant
as they suppose."

Others followed suit in similar terms, though
apparently with little effect on public opinion,
for when, early in September, the sale of tickets
for the first season commenced, both Mr.
Higginson and I were greatly astonished and
gratified at the demand for them. As early
as six o'clock on the morning of the sale people
commenced getting into line before the doors
of the old Music Hall, one paper even asserting
this to have taken place in the afternoon of
the previous day. The Transcript, Boston's
premier evening paper, asked in bewilderment :
" Where does all the audience come from ?
Where have all these symphony - goers been
during the last ten years that they have hidden
themselves so completely from public view ? ' :
This was encouraging. I was by that time
rehearsing industriously and enthusiastically
with the orchestra, with all the members of
which I stood on the most friendly footing,
and to whom, previous to the commencement
of rehearsal, I had issued this letter :

To THE MEMBERS OF THE BOSTON SYMPHONY
ORCHESTRA

GENTLEMEN I beg leave to say a few words to
you now, in order to avoid waste of time after our
work has once begun. Wherever a body of men are



xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 273

working together for one and the same end, as you
and I, the utmost of unity and mutual understanding
is required in order to achieve anything that is great
or good.

Every one of us, engaged for the concerts we are
on the point of beginning, has been engaged because
his powers, his talents have been considered valuable
for the purpose. Every one of us, therefore, should
have a like interest as well as a like share in the success
of our work, and it is in this regard that I address
you now, calling your attention to the following
points with which I urgently beg of you to acquaint
yourselves thoroughly :

Let us be punctual. Better ten minutes before
than one behind the time appointed.

Tuning will cease the moment the conductor
gives the sign for doing so.

No member of the orchestra, even if his presence
be not needed for the moment, will leave the
hall during the time of the rehearsals and
concerts without the consent of the conductor.

The folios containing the parts will be closed
after each rehearsal and concert.

Inasmuch as we are engaged for musical purposes,
we will not talk of private matters during
rehearsals and concerts.

Hoping that, thus working together with perfect
understanding, our labours will be crowned with
success. I am, gentlemen, your obedient servant,

G. H.

Being absolutely my own master as regards
the orchestra and its work, I tried several
experiments in the way of the placing of the



274 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx

orchestra, dividing, for instance, the strings
into equal halves on my right and left with
the object of enabling the listeners on either
side of the hall to have the full effect of the
whole string - quintet. Those experiments I
submitted in letters, illustrated by diagrams,
to Brahms, who most kindly, in his answers,
commented upon their practicability or other-
wise. " But," he writes on one occasion,
>c by far the best feature in all your arrange-
ments of the orchestra, is the fact that no
committee will be sitting in front of it. There
is not a Kapellmeister on the whole of our
continent who would not envy you that ! "
In the making of the programmes I endeavoured
to be guided by the principles laid down by
the famous German writer, Gustav Freytag,
whose book, The Technique of the Drama, I
had studied in my Leipsic days, principles
which he had evolved from the study of the
great dramatists from Sophocles to Shakespeare.
In that book Freytag maintains that a drama
should have an uneven number of acts, either
three or five. The interest should steadily
ascend during the first two or, in the case
of a five-act play, during the first three acts.
Here should be the climax, after which, in the
last act or, in the case of a five-act play, in
the last two the interest should gently descend



xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 275

until, at the end, it has reached the level of
the outset.

Accordingly, with hardly an exception, I
arranged my programmes so that, commencing
with an overture, after which there came a
solo, either instrumental or vocal, the climax,
viz. the symphony, stood at the end of the
first part which generally took up, as regards
the length of the concert, two -thirds of the
whole. The second part then was a gentle
" letting-down " from the more or less acute
mental effort claimed by the first part. The
scheme seemed to meet with the approval
even of the critics. Anyhow, at all the concerts,
which took place every Saturday evening for
twenty-four successive weeks, the hall was
crowded, and as to the public rehearsals on the
Friday afternoons, for which no tickets being
sold beforehand one paid twenty-five cents
(one shilling) at the door to every part of the
house, there was many an afternoon when
people had to be turned away. I shall never
forget the public rehearsal for the last concert
of the first season, when Beethoven's Ninth
Symphony the preceding eight had all been
given in the course of the series was on the
programme. I had left my house in Otis
Place for old Music Hall the magnificent
" Symphony " Hall of the present day did not



276 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx

exist then and was crossing the Common,
when in the distance I observed, fully three or
four minutes' walk to the Hall yet, a huge
gathering of people. " What a pity," I said
to myself, thinking some accident had happened,
>c this should occur just to-day, when it will
interfere with the progress of people wanting
to go to the rehearsal ! ' : Imagine my surprise
and, needless to add, my gratification when,
on coming nearer, I found that the crowd was
slowly moving towards Music Hall they were
the very people trying to get admission to the
rehearsal ! I had to beg and elbow my way to
the hall, and even there men and women
sitting on the steps leading to the platform-
encountered some difficulty in my endeavour to
reach the conductor's place in time. As far,
therefore, as regards the public, there was
nothing to complain of. But the critics !
It was after the unquestionable success of the
very first concert that the seemingly organized
newspaper attacks commenced. Nothing was
good. My tempi, my " untraditional ' : way
of conducting, even the seating of the orchestra
furnished abundant reasons for adverse criticism,
the growth of which in violence appeared to
keep pace with that of the favour the concerts
found with the public from week to week.
I was, by one critic, considered " a veritable



xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 277

Brahmin " in my passion for Brahms. " There
are more dissonances in Music Hall in a week
now," he wrote, " than there used to be in a
year." Ridicule, sarcasm, venom, wit not
always free from vulgarity were called upon
to serve the purpose of defeating Mr. Higginson's
scheme. At one of the concerts I was an-
nounced to play a MS. Pianoforte Concerto
of my own which soon afterwards, in spite of
its momentary success, shared the fate of that
significant Concert-Overture and this afforded
the critics a welcome opportunity for the
activity of all the above requisites of warfare,
a warfare which, however, was of a decidedly
one-sided kind, as neither Mr. Higginson nor
I ever took the slightest public notice of these
attacks. Here is a little sample :

Mr. Henschel will appear as pianist, composer,
and conductor, and he has already appeared as a
singer in the series. That is a good deal for one man
to do. But he will do it with all satisfaction to the
public, which seems to be entirely captivated by him.
The only thing he cannot do is to appear as a string
quartette, or sing duets with himself.

In another paper there appeared a parody
on the programme : " Eggshel Concert ; Con-
ductor, Henor Eggshel." Conductor, composer,
manager, performers, all had the name of Egg-
shel, and the items of the programme were



278 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx

" Zum Andenken," " Vergiss-mein-nicht," "And
don't you forget it," " Souviens-toi," " Then
you'll remember me," and so on really very
amusing. Certainly the amount of free adver-
tising I got was amazing. That some people
minded this sort of thing more than I did, was
shown by a letter which appeared in the
Boston Herald, headed " Mr. Henschel's Critics
criticized," and signed " Pro bono publico."
It began thus :

" Let me ask, is it fair, just, honourable, or even
decent for the managers of these papers " quoting
the Saturday Evening Gazette, the Advertiser, and the
Transcript " to permit such critics to vilify, malign,
abuse and ridicule a gentleman of Mr. Henschel's
abilities, a born musician, a simple, earnest, devoted
worker for the highest and best in music at all times ? "
and ended : "If the gentlemen of the press desire to
organize a clamour against Mr. Henschel, they will
find his friends quite ready to meet them. The fact
has been established that Mr. Henschel is a success
as a conductor. He has had serious difficulties to
overcome on account of the indifferent and demoralized
condition of his men. He has not been able yet to
prevent some of the old fiddlers from doubling their
backs like cobblers and drawing their bows as they
would so many wax-ends ; but he has, nevertheless,
added new blood, and imparted much of his own
enthusiasm, ardour, and life into the mechanical
old stagers, so that the result has been an agreeable
surprise to all of us, and which has never been seen
under the baton of any other conductor. As a whole,



xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 279

the orchestra is certainly equal to any we had ever
had in Boston, and, if it is not already, by the end of
the season I doubt not it will be the best one of its
class in America."

This was very pleasant reading for a change,
although it had very little effect on the critics.
The public, however, continued to flock to the
concerts in ever-increasing numbers, and the
members of the orchestra showed their good-
will to me by the gift of a silver salad set, which
was presented to me at one of the concerts
in February '82, happening to fall on my
birthday, in full sight of and with the evident
warm approval of the audience.

Just at that time, it being near the end of
the first season, Mr. Higginson and I had
several meetings in regard to the arrangements
for the next one, the result of which was a
circular letter to the members of the orchestra,
of which I quote the following paragraphs,
heralding, as they did, a phase in the organiza-
tion of orchestras entirely new in the history
of musical Boston :

Your services will be required on each week
between October 1 and April 1, on the
following days : Wednesday morning, after-
noon and evening ; Thursday morning, after-
noon and evening ; Friday morning and
afternoon ; Saturday morning and evening.

On Wednesday and Thursday all of your time



280 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx

will, of course, not be required, but you must
be ready when needed. You will be expected
to play during these four days either at
concerts or at rehearsals, as required. If it is
necessary to give a concert occasionally on
Friday, you will be asked to give that evening
in place of another.

On the days specified you will neither play
in any other orchestra nor under any other
conductor than Mr. Henschel, except if
wanted in your leisure hours by the Handel
and Haydn Society, nor will you play for
dancing. . . .

Then followed the offers of salary to the
individual players. This letter drew forth a
perfect eruption of indignation on the part
of the critics. " It is a good thing for Mr.
Henschel," one of them wrote, " that he received
his silver salad set from his orchestra two
weeks ago. Just at present there is no desire
to give Mr. Henschel anything except censure.
The cause of this sudden revulsion of feeling "
(!!) the exclamation marks are mine "is
that Mr. Henschel's efforts at musical reform
appear to have suddenly become a little too
sweeping, and seem to include the centraliza-
tion of Boston's music in the hands of this
conductor. . . . Mr. Higginson's circular is a
direct stab at the older organizations and
rival conductors of Boston the manner



xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 281

in which the proposal is made is one which
forebodes tyranny. Some of the oldest members
of the orchestra, men whose services to music
in Boston have entitled them to deference and
respect, are omitted altogether, and will be
left out of the new organization. . . ."

Another paper accused Mr. Higginson of
" making a corner " in orchestral players,
characterizing his gift as an " imposition " :
" something that we must receive or else look
musical starvation in the face. It is as if a
man should make a poor friend a present of
several baskets of champagne and, at the same
time, cut off his whole water-supply. . . ."
The Gazette even went so far as to describe
Mr. Higginson' s " monopoly of music " " an
idea that could scarcely have emanated from
any association except that of deluded wealth
with arrant charlatanism " !

All this deluge of abuse affected Mr.
Higginson and me as water does the pro-
verbial back of a duck. The newspapers were
eagerly searched for replies from either him or
me, people anticipating with glee the great
fun of a " regular fight " ; and when at last, on
March 21, there really appeared a letter from
Mr. Higginson in the papers, I would have
given much to have seen the faces of some of
the people who read the following announce-



282 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx

ment, most characteristic in its shortness and
simplicity, and, as a rejoinder to the enemy's
onslaughts, really amusing :

When last spring the general scheme for the
concerts of the Boston Symphony Orchestra was put
forth, the grave doubt in my mind was whether they
were wanted. This doubt has been dispelled by a
most kindly and courteous public, and therefore the
scheme will stand. The concerts and public re-
hearsals, with Mr. George Henschel as conductor,
will go on under the same conditions in the main as
to time, place, programmes and prices. Any changes
will be duly made public when the tickets are ad-
vertised for sale.

HENRY LEE HIGGINSON.

And when the tickets were advertised and
the sale had commenced, this is what the
newspaper had to say about it on Monday
morning :

The interest taken in the coming series of Sym-
phony Concerts under the direction of Mr. Henschel
is shown by the demand for season tickets. A few
people appeared at the Box Office at Music Hall on
Saturday morning for the purpose of securing positions
in the line of purchasers. As Music Hall was to be
used they were not allowed to stand in the passage-
way and, accordingly, stood in line on Winter Street.
Some time in the afternoon others came and formed
a line in Music Hall Place. When this was noticed
those around the corner made a rush, and some who
had secured good positions in the first place were not
so fortunate at the time of the change. Early Sunday



xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 283

evening the line rapidly lengthened, and at seven
o'clock there were more than a hundred persons in
line, and at nine o'clock the number had increased
to at least two hundred. Chairs, camp-stools, and
even a long wooden settee were in the service of
these patient ones, and the floor of the doorway leading
to the vestibule was covered by about a dozen in-
dividuals lying packed as close as sardines. The
time was passed in smoking, chatting, and by occasion-
ally taking a promenade, a neighbour securing the
seat of the absent one until he returned. When the
sale of tickets began, there were about three hundred
and fifty persons in line, many of them boys who were
holding positions for others. Some who intended
purchasing only two tickets would take orders for
four more, six tickets to each person being the limit.
It is said that the second man in the line sold his
position for thirty-five dollars. . . .

This certainly was encouraging, and if it
did not entirely change the attitude of the
press, it had at least some influence on their
tactics. They now contended the concerts
did not fulfil their intended mission of minister-
ing to the large mass of the public. One man,
referring to the first season, wrote :

I saw but few whom I should believe to be poor
or even of moderate means. ..." Full dress " was to
be seen on every hand. ... I should be very glad
to take my family to hear these educating and refining
concerts, but I have not the means to go in full
dress. ... Is not Mr. Higginson's scheme a failure,
practically? . . .



284 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx

Another :

Symphony Concerts may be given for a number
of years in Boston at a rate which will certainly
involve pecuniary loss ; but it is not at all probable
that Mr. Higginson will have his successor in any
such unappreciated system of philanthropy. . . .
How long the role of King Ludwig is to be played in
Boston, it is impossible to determine. Certain it is
that no one is profiting by it save the distinguished
conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra.

Well, as I said before, neither Mr. Higginson
nor I heeded these things, and the second season
commenced " as advertised." I was greatly
amused on reading in the Transcript on the
day after the first concert : ic Either Mr.
Henschel has converted the critics, or the critics
have converted Mr. Henschel. Which is it ? '
And actually, after this, there seemed to
prevail a more conciliatory tone in the utterings
of the critics, with now and then a flickering
of the old spirit, as will presently be seen.
The programme of the concert for Saturday,
February 17, 1883, had in the usual way been
announced on the last page of the preceding
one, but whilst rehearsing the same on the
morning of Tuesday the 13th, the news of
Wagner's death at the Palazzo Vendramini in
Venice was brought into the hall, whereupon
I immediately decided to abandon the adver-



xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 285

tised programme and substitute for it one
entirely consisting of works from the pen of
the dead master. This was the programme :

Prelude (Tristan and Isolde) ; Lohengrin's Legend
and Farewell, sung by Mr. Charles R. Adams ; Siegfried
Idyll ; Elizabeth's Greeting to the Hall of Song, from
Tannhauser, sung by Mile. Gabriella Boema ; Prelude
to the Master singers of Nuremberg ; Pogner's Address
from the same opera, sung by myself and conducted
by Mr. Listemann, the leader; Prelude to Parsifal,
and the Death March from the Cotter ddmmerung.

The Parsifal prelude I had introduced to
Boston earlier in the season, playing it both at
the beginning and at the end of the same
concert, a proceeding which, much to my gratifi-
cation, had found considerable favour with the
musicians as well as the public.

This Wagner - Memorial Concert was thus
criticized by the Gazette :

A tribute of respect to the dead composer crowded
the front of the first gallery, and consisted of some
mourning drapery decorated with laurel, and a
portrait of Wagner. The Orchestra wore black
instead of the customary white neckties. The pro-
gramme was gloomy enough in all conscience, and
the necessity for its performance gave one more
cause for regret at the composer's death. The whole
concert was an elegiac nightmare. We doubt if ever
Music Hall echoed to a longer stretch of cacophonous
dreariness within the same length of time.

Incredible !



286 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx

A year later, on the anniversary of Wagner's
death, the programme contained, in memory
of the event, three of his compositions. This
time one of the critics, and a very clever one,
Mr. Louis C. Elson, who has, among other
meritorious work, done some excellent English
versions of a great number of German songs,
blossomed into poetry :

Oh, Henschel, cease thy higher flight,

And give the public something light !

Let no more Wagner themes thy bill enhance,

And give the native workers just one chance.

Don't give the Dvorak symphony again ;

If you would give us joy, oh, give us Paine !

The last line is really quite witty, for Mr.
John K. Paine, Professor of Music at Harvard
University, and a composer of considerable
skill and erudition, had written a tc Spring
Symphony ' :> which was " not half bad," and
which I brought to a hearing during the series.
From the reference to Dvorak it will be seen
that the task I had set myself, of introducing
the works of living composers new to Boston,
was not a very grateful one. It does seem
almost as incredible now as the " cacophonous
dreariness of Wagner " to have, for instance,
the Adagio from Brahms' Serenade in D likened
by one of the critics, as it was, to " the sapient
musings of some brilliant idiot " ! " We are



xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 287

told," that gentleman continued, " by an
eminent musician of the orchestra, that thirty
years will make a wondrous change in our
views concerning Brahms' idiosyncrasies. Let
us not run so unwelcome a risk. Let us die
in peace, with none of the abortive transition
to plague our life away, that might be expected
by some of the so-called future school of
music. . . ."

Poor man ! The thirty years have passed,
and wondrous indeed the change they have
wrought. Debussy, D'Indy, Ravel, Scriabine,
Richard Strauss, Reger, Schonberg what has
my friend, if he be still among the living, to
say of these ?

" Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in
illis." But, thank God, not all of us. Some
there are left to whom the names BACH,
BEETHOVEN still stand for all that is highest,
noblest, purest, holiest, most lovable in our
art.



XXI

DURING the second year of my conducting the
Boston Symphony Orchestra my heart was
occasionally made heavy by letters from Europe,
expressing disappointment at my remaining
over there so long. Mme. Clara Schumann
wrote : " Do you want to forsake Europe
altogether ? You can imagine how the news
of your having accepted for a second year
astonishes me, and how much I, and doubtless
many with me, deplore it. What will Brahms
say to it ? . . . ' And Brahms, from Ischl,
in June 1882, writes : " That you have under-
taken to conduct another series of twenty-five
concerts in Boston is a very nice thing in itself,
only not exactly to us a cause for rejoicing. . . ."
Early in '83 I received another letter from
him in which he refers to my Boston position,
and which, I think, is characteristic enough to
be given in full :

VIENNA, 1883.

DEAR HENSCHEL With mortification I thank you
at last for so many kind and good news. You really

288



xxi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 289

have deserved that one should settle down comfortably
to write a comfortable reply but I beg you once for
all to remember that with me the moment is still to
come when I shall write the first letter with pleasure.

Moreover, it is most aggravating to write to one
who has left us so completely and whom we could
make such excellent good use of here !

I dare say it's useless to ask you if you would at
all entertain the idea of taking the position at Breslau
which Scholz 1 resigns this winter ?

For your friendly pressure regarding a manuscript
work for performance I must thank you. But it
would be the first time I had allowed a MS. to go out
of my hands. A new piece of mine I like to hear
several times (in MS.). If then it appears to me so
accidentally worthy of being printed, it cannot, for
any length of time, escape that operation. Otherwise
I do not give it into other hands. 2

But we can and shall make provision that you
have such novelties over there sooner than other
people. Could you make use of a choral work ? In
that case Simrock just now would have a rather
pretty little one which you might secure ! 3

Now, please give my greetings to yours and ours ;
I mean our colleagues. Greet them from my heart
and let me have the pleasure of being allowed to keep
in contact with them, though it be only by means of
programmes and newspapers.

1 Bernhard Scholz, composer, Director of the Hoch'sche Con-
servatory of Music at Frankfort-on-the-Main, then conductor of
the Symphony Concerts at Breslau.

2 I was, however, later on successful in procuring from Brahms
the MS. of his Concerto for Violin and Violoncello (Op. 102) for
first performance in England.

3 That " pretty little one " was no less important and serious a
work than the Gesang der Parzen (Song of the Fates), Op. 89.

U



290 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxi

I quite see that I am not worthy of frequent news
by letter ! But you don't know my grateful dis-
position !

Again and beforehand many thanks. Heartily
yours, J. B.

Still, I had grown so fond of my orchestra,
to work with whom under such uniquely ad-
vantageous and gratifying conditions was a
source of constant delight to me, that I accepted
Mr. Higginson's offer of a continuation of my
services for a third term, during which the
scheme of giving concerts in places outside
of Boston was inaugurated, confined however,
for the time, to towns in New England. But
when at the end of the third season Mr.
Higginson, now assured of the stability of the
institution, submitted to me a contract the
acceptance of which would practically have
meant settling in the States for good, I felt
that the ties which bound me to the old country
were too strong for me, prosperous and happy
and profitable in every sense as these three
years had been, and I decided to return to
Europe.

As I write this I see before my mind's eye
the crowded Boston Music Hall on the evening
of the last concert of the season '83-84. The
first number on the programme was Schumann's
overture to Manfred, which opens with



xxi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 291

an impetuous " forte " phrase, syncopated,
quick, and requiring a very decided, strong
down-beat. I had raised my baton to attention
and except the garland of flowers which
friendly hands had wound around my desk
nothing seemed to indicate an unusual state of
things was just on the point of letting it
come down with a will, when shall I ever
forget the peculiar sensation it gave me I saw,
as in a dream, the leader and, with him, the
whole orchestra rise to their feet, and before
I could realise what was happening, the
familiar, affecting strain of " Auld Lang Syne "
filled the vast hall, played by those dear
fellows of the orchestra and sung by the
audience, which I noticed, in turning round
bewildered and embarrassed, had risen too.
I was touched to a degree, far too much so for
thinking of speaking. At a subsequent semi-
public farewell gathering of friends I found on
my seat at the table the following apostrophe,
in a neat hand, and on a nice, old-fashioned
sheet of paper with embossed edges :

Henschel ! Henschel !

Women and men shall
Sit at thy feet and list to thy song.

Henschel ! Henschel !

Ah, where and when shall
Such rapture once more to us belong ?



292 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxi

Henschel ! Henschel !

Never again shall
Leader or Singer be half so dear.

Henschel ! Henschel !

Sing thou and then shall
Earth be forgotten and Heaven draw near !

k

If whoever wrote this be still among the
living and happening to read this book, I should
be very grateful for a revelation of his or her
identity. Surely it was not easy for me to
tear myself away from so much kindness and
affection !

Before leaving this for me so memorable
and important chapter in the history of my
career I am sure I shall be pardoned if I quote
just one more extract from the papers of the
time, as, in the light of subsequent developments,
it seems amusing enough to be almost pathetic.

The fact of my decision to return to Europe
after the end of the third season had become
known and the name of Wilhelm Gericke of
Vienna been announced as that of my successor.
It was also a matter of common knowledge
that, during that last season, the attendance of
the public at the public rehearsals had become
larger than ever before, whilst that at the
evening concerts had shown a slight decrease ;
a circumstance easily accounted for not only
by the considerably greater cheapness of ad-
mission to the rehearsals, but also by the fact



xxi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 293

that those public rehearsals were identically
" as good " as the concerts, even as regards
the appearance of the soloists. I cannot recall
a single instance of an interruption at these
rehearsals, or a repetition within a number
of the programme for the sake of correction.
But there it was : Decrease of Attendance at
the Boston Symphony Concerts ! What did
it matter if the total weekly average of attend-
ance close on 4500 at both concerts and
rehearsals, showed a steady improvement on
the two previous seasons ? Here was an alarm-
ing and significant symptom, which no self-
respecting critic could afford losing the oppor-
tunity of making a handle of for a weapon to
strike one last weighty blow. And this was it.
(I will be charitable and refrain from revealing
the name of the prophetic paper) :

I believe that a large number attended the Sym-
phony Concerts for the first two seasons simply be-
cause they were fashionable. Now the force of the
fashionable commandment Thou shalt not miss a
symphony concert has spent itself, and the audiences
are smaller than in the opening seasons of the enter-
prise, although the orchestra plays better and the
programmes are more interesting. Poor Mr. Gericke !
He comes from Vienna just in time to take charge
of an enterprise in which public interest is waning,
and lucky Mr. Henschel, he will leave it in a manner
which will enable him to say that it only prospered
when under his direction. But I will not croak out



294 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxi

" Ichabod, the glory is departed," before I am quite
sure that it has really and entirely left. That it has
partially gone is undoubted.

That was written in 1884.

During the more than thirty years that
have passed since then, the Boston Symphony
Orchestra has uninterruptedly continued its
splendidly beneficent work in the cause of
music, and not only in Boston, but throughout
the length and breadth of the United States,
work which has been described in greater
detail in a just-published History of the Boston
Symphony Orchestra, admirably written by
M. A. de Wolfe Howe. It reads like some
chapter in the Old Testament :

After Henschel came Gericke ; after Gericke
came Nikisch ; after Nikisch came Paur ;
after Paur came Gericke ; after Gericke Karl
Muck ; after Muck Fiedler, and after Fiedler
again Muck. And this last named had the
happiness and gratification of conducting a
concert on the eightieth birthday of that
grand old man, the founder and supporter of
one of the very finest orchestras in the world
who, on entering the hall, was greeted by
orchestra and audience with an outburst of
enthusiasm equalled only by that with which
the toast of his health was pledged by the
many friends and admirers as they sat down



xxi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 295

to the Jubilee dinner in Mr. Higginson's honour,
and listened to what the modest man had to
say in answer to it, words which are worthy
to be recorded as a lasting inspiration :

Several times when I have faltered in my plans
for the future, 1 I have taken heart again on seeing the
crowd of young, fresh schoolgirls, of music students,
of tired school teachers, of weary men, of little old
ladies leading grey lives not often reached by the
sunshine, and I have said to myself : " One year
more, anyway." To us all come hard blows from
the hand of fate, with hours, days, weeks of suffering
and of sadness. Even boys and girls know this early
and know it late. At these times music draws the
pain, or at least relieves it, just as the sun does.
Considering these things, can I have done harm by
the concerts ? Are they not worth while, even if they
cost me years of work and worry ? What were we
made for ? We are all bound in our day and genera-
tion to serve our country and our fellow-men in some
way. Lucky is he who finds a fair field for his work,
and when he has put his hands to the plough, he may
not lightly turn back. He may not too easily say,
" Enough, I am weary."

Surely admiration, affection, and gratitude
will follow the name of Henry Lee Higginson
for generations to come.

1 In regard to the Symphony Concerts.



XXII

THE holidays between the' concert seasons were
generally spent among the hills of Massa-
chusetts. I had read and heard a good deal
about the particular attractiveness, and now
had plenty of opportunity to verify all that
had been said and written in praise of country
and life in New England, by which name the
six north - eastern states of Massachusetts,
Connecticut, Rhode Island, Vermont, New
Hampshire, and Maine are known collectively.
Looking back on the period into which those
first visits fell, I find it difficult to realise so
truly old new-worldy it all appeared to me
that it is only thirty-seven years since I passed
my first summer there. One seemed to breathe
the very spirit of the Pilgrim Fathers in the
simple, vigorous life of the people in those
villages around Northampton, of which Hayden-
ville was one of the prettiest. Founded by,
and named after my wife's maternal ancestors,
a family of mechanics who, two generations
back, had built a brass foundry on the banks



xxii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 297

of the river there, it was a peaceful, quietly
flourishing place when I came to know it.
The main street of the village was a broad
avenue of those magnificent elm-trees for which
the country all about is famous. Set back a
few yards from the side-walk, which not in-
frequently consisted of wooden planks, and
connected with it by plots of grass containing
well-cared-for flower-beds or else fine specimens
of trees walnuts, chestnuts, or planes stood
the dwelling-houses, all in their own grounds.
The two most distinguished among them were,
not unnaturally, the homes of Josiah Hayden,
my wife's grandfather, and Joel, his brother.
Quite imposing buildings they were, with
broad steps up to a portico, the triangular roof
of which was supported by four Ionic columns.
That these were of wood, painted white, and
not of marble, did not take away a bit from
their stateliness ; neither did the houses seem
in the least out of place in the simple New
England village. You instinctively felt that
the Greek portico merely testified to a love,
in the owners, of the beautiful, independent of
surroundings. There was dignity without pre-
tence to grandeur outside, and within, true
comfort in the shapes of cosy armchairs, sofas,
large fireplaces, wide four - posters, books,
pictures in plenty. How I remember those



298 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxn

patriarchal Sunday afternoons when all the
available members of the families would as-
semble on the verandah called " piazza, "-
and, distributed in groups between the Greek
columns, the old people in easy-chairs, mostly,
I fear, of the rocking species, the younger ones
on the steps, keep up tradition by singing
hymns and psalms as in the days of Josiah
and Joel, who had already joined the Choir
Invisible. Josiah other biblical names in the
family were Joseph, James, Samuel, David,
Sarah, Ruth, Esther had been a Methodist
minister, said to have had a beautiful voice,
and the hymns we sang were chiefly of that
church, like " Jerusalem the Golden," " Every
hour I need Thee," " Why not come to Me
now. ..." Commonplace as some of them
unquestionably are from the musical stand-
point, it is remarkable how their naive sincerity
invests them with a quality almost amounting
to beauty. The devotional, artless singing of
them, too, in the open air, for every passer-by
to hear, and in the simplest possible harmonies,
was most impressive.. Add to that the strange
force of mental association, and there is perhaps
no wonder these hymns seem lovely to me to
this day. Who does not know that fine Love-
song from Schubert's Miillerlieder, with the
impassioned and beautiful refrain :



xxn MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 299



Thine is my heart, thine is my heart, and shall re - main, re -




main for ev

and yet the very inferior setting, by Kursch-
mann, a long-forgotten composer, of the same
poem :






Thine is my heart, thine is my heart, and shall re -




main



seems to me even to-day lovelier and preferable,
because it rings in my ears as my mother used
to sing it to me in the days of my childhood.

Not far from the two Hayden houses, farther
up the street, were the church, a simple wooden
structure with a graceful spire, and the school-
house ; on the other side of the river various
houses, all built of wood, with the usual comfort-
able and sociable "piazza" round the ground-
floor and a " yard," as the little plots of grass
or garden rather irreverently were called ; also
a few shops for the necessities and conveniences
of daily life and the " drug-store," containing
the post office whither one had to go or send for



300 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxn

one's mail, and where, on Saturday afternoons,
the boys were treating the girls to a sip of the
American nectar, an ice-cream soda. Farther
off, strewn about over the slopes of the hills
and nearer the railway line, stood a number
of small " frame " cottages for the poorer class
of the inhabitants, mostly mill-hands ; for be-
sides the " Brass-shop " there was also quite
a good -sized cotton -mill in the place. The
little railroad branch from Northampton ex-
tended to the town of Williamsburg, one station
beyond Haydenville, and on hearing, some
distance off, the cheery sound of the clear and
powerful bell which was attached to the engine
and rung by the driver for some minutes when
nearing our village, to walk to the station and
witness the arrival of the diminutive train,
consisting of locomotive, passenger-coach, and
van, as it leisurely drew up at the platform,
used to be one of the excitements of the day.
Things have changed since then, when it took
over thirty hours to go from New York to
Chicago instead of the present eighteen ; and
the answer of the negro porter at a Western
station who, on being asked if the Louisville
Express stopped there, disdainfully replied :
" Thtop ? Doethn't even heth'tate ! " is doubt-
less of recent date.

The drives through the country about



xxii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 301

Haydenville were very varied and attractive,
and the owner of the hotel needless to say
the only one in the place did a good business
during the summer months, letting his buggies
and horses to those that could afford this more
luxurious way of enjoying the really beautiful
scenery, or else of doing their shopping in
Northampton, a prosperous town charmingly
situated among the hills and famous for one
of the best young ladies' schools in the States,
Smith College.

There is a singular attractiveness in the
American "buggy," especially for young
people the one -seated species, which just
accommodates two, one of whom must be the
driver. It is a very light vehicle, with four
large thin wheels of equal size, made of the
sinewy, steely hickory wood, which plough
through the heavy, sandy roads like the cutters
of a sleigh through the snow. Sharp turns
in narrow roads are, on account of the height
of the wheels and the absence of a lock, only
negotiable by backing the machine often more
than once just as one has to do with motors
nowadays ; so, with a good horse in the shafts
and mine host of the Haydenville House had
some excellent pacers which he only let out to
particularly favourite customers a spin through
the country was not only a most exhilarating



302 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxn

experience but also something of a sport.
Pacing was at that time much en vogue in the
States, some towns even boasting of roads,
called " Speedways," specially made for the
purpose, and there were any number of horses
known to be capable of doing a mile in two and
a half or three minutes. One tells of a man who,
very proud of the swiftness of his mare, capped
a rather extravagant story of some other
horse's speed, by saying, " Well, that's nothing.
I took a friend for a run behind my mare the
other day, and after a while he asked me,
" What churchyard is this we are driving
through?" "Churchyard?" I said, "why,
man, these are milestones ! ' :

I remember driving to Northampton one
morning alone in such a buggy this apropos
of shopping and, much to the amusement of
the family, coming home with eleven huge
water-melons. I had hitched my mare to one
of the wooden posts outside a greengrocer's,
unaware of the dangerously close proximity
of a large pyramid of gigantic water-melons
piled up on the side-walk. Returning to my
conveyance after having made my purchases
and some calls in different parts of the place,
I found that the clever animal, evidently bored
at standing idle for so long, had been having
a beautiful time during my absence, innocently



xxii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 303

sampling eleven of the popular vegetable by
nibbling off a little round piece of the thick
rind. Of course I had to buy the lot, which
I distributed among the population. There
was quite a good doctor in Haydenville.

Another amusing experience of a very
different kind we had in Boston at the end of
the summer of 1887, The Hub of the Universe
had always been the acknowledged centre of
spiritualistic activity in the States, a fact to
which W. D. Howell's delightful romance, The
Undiscovered Country, bears witness. At that
time the southern part of the town was par-
ticularly noted for houses in which the cult of
spiritualism was practised, and it was to one
of those that William James, Henry's brother,
proposed to take us.

William James, charming and fascinating
to almost the same degree as his more famous
brother, had made research into psychic
phenomena and investigation of the truth in
matters spiritualistic a life-study, and his very
earnestness on the subject rendered him all
the more eager to expose sham and fraud
wherever he was likely to find it. It was
therefore with no small excitement and antici-
pation none of our party, excepting our
amiable guide had ever been present at a real
seance that we set out with him one fine



304 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxn

evening on our expedition to the undiscovered
country. After alighting from the rather dingy
" horse-car," where we had found ourselves in
very mixed company (the most conspicuous
member of which was an unusually large,
evidently well-to-do negress of the blackest
dye, in a dainty muslin dress with white
and light -green stripes, a large straw hat
with a huge purple feather, a red sunshade,
and big diamonds stuck in the lobes of her
ears and glittering on two of her dusky
fingers), we wended our way through narrow,
dirty, dimly-lighted streets, before most of
the houses in which there stood wooden barrels
or zinc bins holding the refuse ready for the
scavenger's rounds next morning, until at
last we reached the haunted house in Rutland
Street, one of a long row of poor, shabby-
genteel residences, the front doors of which
are reached by a short flight of steps with the
wooden banisters painted over with a stone-
coloured substance to make them look like hewn
granite. On our pulling the bell the door was
opened by a solemn-looking, elderly, nondescript
gentleman in a black frock-coat suit, something
between minister of the gospel and shop-walker.
The look of distrust with which he viewed our
party was, I have hardly a doubt, due to the
presence with us of Nettie, a daughter of



xxii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 305

Huxley's, the possessor of a fine contralto voice,
who had accompanied us on our visit to the
States, in order to continue her only lately
commenced singing studies with me. She was
uncommonly tall and muscular, and full of
that boyish mischief twinkling in her large
eyes a paternal inheritance which seemed to
be up to all sorts of fun. I should not wonder if
our spiritualistic host had suspected her of being
a young Harvard student, masquerading they
were known to do that sometimes for a wager-
as a woman. At last the man, still somewhat
hesitating, asked us to follow him, and con-
ducting us to the end of a dark, narrow passage
leading to the back-parlour, bade us enter the
sanctum, a large, stuffy, musty-smelling room,
the walls of which were hung with a dirty,
dark - green, flower - patterned, glazed paper.
From the ceiling was suspended a gasolier
without globes, on each of the three arms of
which was burning a very diminutive bluish
flame, just sufficient to allow us to distinguish
a few silent people of both sexes seated on small
wicker-bottomed chairs and, at the end of the
room, stretching from one side of it across to
the other and hiding a sort of stage, slightly
raised, a thick black curtain. On the level of
the floor, close to the wall, a poor, emaciated,

humpbacked girl of about sixteen, dressed in

x



306 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxn

black, was seated before a little portable
American organ, endeavouring to squeeze some-
thing resembling a hymn -tune out of the
wheezy instrument which, besides labouring
under a great difficulty of respiration, had the
hiccups in a most distressing manner. Its
sufferings being over for the moment, the man
in black addressed the audience or should I
say the congregation dwelling on the delicate
and sensitive nature of the spirits who, in-
stinctively divining the presence of scoffers,
of which he hoped there were none among us,
were not unfrequently apt to refuse to appear
altogether. Then he most naively took out of
his pocket a gas-key and, having extinguished
two of the flames, turned down the remaining
one so low as to make the room practically
pitch-dark ; and out of that darkness, amidst
expectant silence, his voice was heard to ask
the solemn question, " Are you there ? ' No
response. Then, to encourage the humble
spirits, some more hiccups and more silence,
after which there came at last a feeble knock
from behind the curtain, and then another, and,
in quick succession, some stronger ones, and
then will you believe it ? several spirits in
white phosphorescent robes rose suddenly from
behind chairs, noiselessly flitting across the
floor as if in the happy possession of mortal



xxii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 307

feet, and disappearing in the direction of the
curtain. If only the key had not been in the
man's pocket, what fun it would have been
to turn on the light during these apparitions !
As it was, suppressed exclamations of awe on
the part of devout believers could be heard in
some portions of the room, whilst there was a
distinct sound of something like, I am afraid,
suppressed giggling coming from where we sat.
That settled it. Some of the spirits must have
communicated the outrage to their still im-
materialized brethren, for in spite of the
redoubled efforts of the girl at the harmonium
to appease the wrath of the offended spirits,
there was no sign of a willingness on their part
to honour us again. We began to get a little
uneasy and to wonder how it would end, when
the lugubrious voice of the gentleman in charge
of the proceedings promptly terminated our
suspense. In doleful notes of deepest emotion
and regret he told us that owing to the presence
in the room of frivolous yes, he used that harsh
word frivolous scoffers, the spirits absolutely
refused to work. And then out came the gas-
key ; the lights were turned on, and we morally
speaking out. Once in the street our own
private spirits, relieved of the fetters of good
breeding, rose to heights of hilarity not gener-
ally attained by people who have seen a ghost.



XXIII

IN the spring of 1884 I had removed my " Lares
et Penates " to London, from where, however,
I soon took my wife and little daughter on a
visit to my family and to see old friends in
Germany. A propos of this visit I cannot
refrain from mentioning a little bird story
which I should hardly have credited had it
been told to, instead of actually experienced
by, me. My sister Hedwig, widow of the
painter Theodor Grosse, late member of the
Royal Academy of Dresden, and famous for
his frescoes in the loggia of the Leipsic Museum,
was very fond of a bullfinch which she had had
for many years, and which piped to perfection
the tune " God save the King." It had
always been a delight to me, when on a visit
to my sister, to hear the clear flute-like notes
and the wonderful rhythm with which the little
fellow executed the song, even embellishing it
now and then with a little grace-note.

This time my sister, who lately had given
the bird the companionship, in an adjoining

308



xxin MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 309

room however, of a canary, told me to be
prepared for a great surprise. The canary,
she said, had gradually learned the song from
the bullfinch, first by single notes, then by
whole bars, until, at the end of less than half
a year, he had absolutely acquired the tune
and sang it, also in the same key, as well as its
unconscious master, the finch.

I told my sister I had always understood
such a thing to be possible, and hardly as un-
common as she seemed to think. " Wait," she
said, " you will hear at least I hope you will
whilst you are with me ; it only happened once,
and I really could not believe my ears then. ..."

Well, it did happen, and this is what " it "
was. I was sitting one afternoon at the cosy
hour of the " Kaffeestundchen " the five-
o'clock tea of England with my sister, when
the bullfinch, in our room, commenced to sing :



and then stopped for a moment, after which
he repeated these two bars. Again he broke
off and began once more, this time singing the
first six bars of the tune :






Here he stopped longer than before, and during
the silence we, too, interrupted our talking,



310 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxm

hoping he would go on. Whilst we were
waiting patiently, the interruption, evidently,
lasted too long for the canary, for to my
unutterable surprise and my sister's great
gratification it was this she had been waiting
for the canary in the next room took up the
song where the bullfinch had left off, singing,
lustily and jubilantly, and with what sounded
like a conscious pride and satisfaction, the
remainder of the tune :



to the very end :






After an extended professional tour on the
Continent during the winter of 1884-1885 we
returned to London, where, in the spring of the
following year, Jenny Lind having just resigned
her position as Professor of Singing at the Royal
College of Music, of which the genial George
Grove was the director, I had the honour of
being appointed her successor. This circum-
stance, as well as my repeated appearances at
the concerts of the Bach Choir, then conducted
by her husband, Otto Goldschmidt, brought
me into rather frequent contact with the re-
nowned couple, who, ever since my first appear-



xxiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 311

ance in 1879, seemed to have formed an
agreeable opinion of me Jenny Lind, in her
letters to me, invariably signed herself, " Ihre
Kunstschwester " (" Your Art-sister ") and I
had now become a regular visitor at their home
in Brompton, a perfect treasure-house of most
interesting mementoes of the great singer's
wonderful career, the history of which she often,
when I happened to be her only guest at the
tea-table, would illustrate by a little story.
On one of these occasions I remember our
coming across the programme of her first
concert in the United States, and the story she
told me in connexion with that is, I am sure,
worthy to be retold :

The manager under whom Jenny Lind had
made her first tournee in America in 1850,
had been no other than the great Barnum,
then known only as the most enterprising and
successful menagerie- and circus-man of the
age. The contract Jenny Lind had signed
was, according to English ideas at that time,
a most advantageous one. When, however,
the great Prima Donna arrived on the other
side of the Atlantic she found that, whereas
in England and on the European continent
she had appeared before audiences of 2000
or perhaps, at the utmost, 3000 people, in
America she was called upon to sing in halls



312 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxm

capable of holding as many as 8000 and more.
No ordinary concert halls being large enough
to hold the vast number of people eager to
hear the famous Swedish nightingale, railroad
stations were temporarily transformed into
temples of song, yea, her first appearance in
New York, the memorable event when " Knox
the hatter " paid 300 dollars for his seat, took
place at Castle Garden, the vast receptacle for
the thousands and thousands of immigrants
whom the weekly steamers poured into the
country. Naturally, Jenny Lind soon realised
how out of all proportion to justice and equity
the conditions were under which she had
agreed to tour the United States, but also how
it was now too late, a contract being a con-
tract. A few days, however, after that first
appearance, when Barnum was dining with
her, she could not resist the temptation of
telling him, in a very pleasant and good-
humoured way, of her disappointment, and how
she had had no idea, when signing the contract,
that she would have to sing in halls three
times as big as any she had ever appeared in
before. Imagine her surprise when Barnum,
without a moment's hesitation, took out of
his pocket the precious document with Jenny
Lind's signature, and, tearing it into little
pieces, said to her, " Madam, send me your



xxni MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 313

lawyer to-morrow, and I will sign any contract
he might see fit to submit to me."

The world at large will perhaps remember
Barnum merely as the great showman, but
to us, who know this rare little story, he
will to quote a phrase from Tennyson's In
Memoriam

. . . ever bear without abuse
The grand old name of gentleman.

One day, in 1880, Mr. Otto Goldschmidt,
contemplating a performance by the Bach
Choir of Brahms' German Requiem, had
asked me if I would do him the favour of
writing to Brahms with the object of ascertain-
ing if the metronome marks at the head of the
different movements of the Requiem should
be strictly adhered to. This is the character-
istic letter containing Brahms' answer :

VIENNA, Feb. 1880.

DEAR HENSCHEL Your letter reaches me just as
I am happening to be at home for a few days ; a very
rare occurrence this winter, worse luck !

Post festum my best congratulations upon the
success of your concert, 1 which indeed must have
been splendid.

The question in your letter received to-day is
somewhat obscure, indistinct ; I hardly know what

1 On December 2, 1879, 1 had conducted at St. James's Hall the
first performance in England of Brahms' Triumphlied for double-
chorus and orchestra, Op. 55.



314 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxm

to answer : "If the indications by figures of the
tempi in my Requiem should be strictly adhered to ? "

Well just as with all other music. I think here
as well as with all other music the metronome is of
no value. As far at least as my experience goes,
everybody has, sooner or later, withdrawn his metro-
nome marks. Those which can be found in my
works good friends have talked me into putting
them there, for I myself have never believed that my
blood and a mechanical instrument go well together.
The so-called " elastic " tempo is moreover not a
new invention. " Con discrezione " should be added
to that as to many other things.

Is this an answer ? I know no better one ; but
what I do know, is that I indicate (without figures)
my tempi, modestly, to be sure, but with the greatest
care and clearness.

Remember me kindly to Mr. Goldschmidt, and tell
him, please, that there is only one thing in the coming
performance I dislike thinking of, and that is, that
No. 5 1 will not be sung by his wife. I do wish I
could have heard that once from her !

It will always remain a matter of great
regret to me that, when I knew Jenny Lind, the
days of her public performances as a soloist
were over. I say, " as a soloist," for if during
the first years of the Bach Choir concerts you
had asked, on one of those occasions, who
that interesting - looking lady was there in
the front row of the sopranos, the lady with the
somewhat stern expression in her face, and her

1 The beautiful soprano solo, *' Ye now are sorrowful."



xxm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 315

hair done in the early Victorian fashion, as
you can see it, for instance, in Winterhalter's
well-known portrait of the youthful Queen,
the answer would have been, " That's the
conductor's wife, Jenny Lind."

I remember once, when we were talking
about the technique of singing, her favouring
me with a little illustration of her own ways
and means, and I shall never forget my wonder
when, asking me to watch the outside of her
throat, she showed me how she used to sing
the trill for which she had been so famous.
During such a trill, which she continued for
an astonishingly long time, increasing, de-
creasing, and again increasing it, her throat
would be visibly quavering with the rapid
pulsations of every succeeding little group of
the two notes, exactly like the throat of a
warbling canary bird. It was a marvellous
performance. Although she could be rather
brusque in expressing her opinion, and never
hesitated to say what she had, and wanted, to
say without mincing matters more than one
young lady who had entered Jenny Lind's
house to sing to her and get her opinion, left
it bathed in tears she was a very kind, warm-
hearted, charitable woman, exceedingly simple
and unaffected. Many were the times when,
after luncheon or tea, and I happened to be



316 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxm

the only guest, she would, on my taking leave,
accompany me to the porch, there perhaps
commencing a new topic of interest and,
continuing it, leave the house with me, just as
she stood, with no hat on, round the corner of
Moreton Gardens, down the street, until I
insisted on escorting her back.

At that period I had many private pupils
in singing, especially from the United States,
and some of my experiences in that respect
were highly amusing. One morning I found
among my mail a large advertising sheet,
something like a poster, headed in big letters :
Miss XYZ, the great Californian something or
other I think it was the usual nightingale.
I had repeatedly seen before, in atlases, charts
illustrating the comparative heights of the
mountains and church- steeples of the world.
Well, this was a similar sort of chart, only,
instead of to the heights of mountains and
cathedrals, it had reference to the voices of the
famous prima donnas of the world. Down at
the bottom was a poor A flat with the name,
against it, of the unfortunate female who could
boast of nothing higher than that ; then came
a B natural with another celebrated name
opposite, then a C sharp, and so on, until the
apex was reached with an A flat an octave
higher than the first-mentioned, and against



xxiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 317

that wonderful achievement was placed in red
emblazoned letters, twice as big as those of the
poor rivals, the name of Miss XYZ. Wonder-
ing why this valuable document should have
been sent to me, I opened the letter accom-
panying it. It was headed, in print, by the
words, "Miss XYZ, Mr. So-and-so, manager."
(When I showed it, a few days later, to my old
friend Henry James, he exclaimed : " Why,
my dear Henschel, this isn't a person, it's a
locality ! ") And the letter, written from New
York, ran as follows :

DEAR SIR Miss XYZ, the great soprano whose
fame on this continent has no doubt reached you
before this, is sailing for England on Saturday fort-
night, to put herself under your tuition. I am sure
I need not point out to you the advantage which
will accrue to you by her so doing. I should be much
obliged if you would meet her on the arrival of the
steamer at Liverpool. In a few weeks I expect to
be in London myself, when I will call and consult
with you as to the best way in which to place her
before the British Public in a chaste and dignified
manner.

I wonder, do my readers know me well
enough by this time to answer correctly the
question : Did I or did I not go to Liverpool
to receive the precious charge ?



XXIV

IT was not long after my return to London that,
strengthened by my three years' experience
in the United States, during which I had con-
ducted over a hundred concerts and four times
as many rehearsals, I conceived the idea of
doing for London something similar to what
Higginson had done for Boston. I was, after
all, even as a conductor, no stranger to the
musical public ? of the metropolis my con-
ducting there, in 1879, of the first perform-
ance in England of Brahms' magnificent
Triumphlied for double - chorus and orchestra
having elicited a good deal of very friendly
comment. The Times of December 3rd had
even considered the concert, at which I also
conducted Brahms' First Symphony in C Minor,
" the most important event of an, up to the
present, anything but interesting season. It
happily combined a charitable purpose " I
had destined the proceeds to the Victoria
Hospital for Children, of which Princess Louise,
Marchioness of Lome, whose singing teacher

318



xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 319

I had the honour of being, was the patroness
" with artistic excellence. . . . For the per-
formance we have nothing but praise, Herr
Henschel proving himself as efficient and in-
telligent a conductor as he is an accomplished
singer."

Moving, as I did, among a society which
included a good many devoted lovers of music,
I could not help becoming aware of the exist-
ence of a widely felt and growing sense of de-
privation as regards orchestral music during
the winter season. It will be remembered
that in London proper there were at that time
no orchestral concerts whatever until after
Easter, when the Philharmonic Society and,
since 1879, those "Orchestral Festival Concerts"
founded by the violinist Hermann Franke
and conducted by Hans Richter, under whose
name they afterwards became famous, com-
menced their season. I thought, therefore, the
time had come for making, at any rate, the
experiment of establishing a series of orchestral
concerts in London during the winter season.
To do this on my own financial responsibility
was, of course, out of the question. Fortunately,
however, there were among my musical friends
a sufficiently great number whose wealth was
equalled by their love of the art as well as by
their kindness. Their number being, moreover,



320



MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv



augmented by personal friends of the Princess
Louise, to whom that gracious lady had most
kindly given me introductions for the purpose,
it was in a surprisingly short time, though
not without hard and by no means always
agreeable work, that I was able to make public
the list of guarantors, which, as a bit of history,
musical and social, will, I believe, be found
sufficiently interesting to be quoted in full :



The Marchioness of Water-
ford
The Dowager Countess of

Airlie

The Countess of Desart
The Countess of Lathom
The Countess of Pembroke
Viscountess Folkestone
Lady George Hamilton
Louisa, Lady Ashburton
Lady Blanche Hozier
Lady Mary Loyd
Lady Agneta Montagu
Lady Sandhurst
Lady Wantage
Lady Windsor
Lady Colvile /

Lady Farrer
Lady Goldsmid
Lady Paget
The Hon. Mrs. Stafford

Northcote

The Hon. Mrs. R. Talbot
The Hon. Mrs. Eliot Yorke
Mrs. Arthur Cohen



Mrs. Conrad

Mrs. Earle

Mrs. Douglas Freshfield

Mrs. C. A. Fyffe

Mrs. Lawrence Harrison

Mrs. Robert Harrison

Mrs. Edwin Henty

Mrs. Francis Jeune

Mrs. Sam. Joshua

Mrs. Charles J. Leaf

Mrs. Ernest Leverson

Mrs. George H. Lewis

Mrs. Alfred Morrison

Mrs. John Nix

Mrs. Edward Raphael

Mrs. George Raphael

Mrs. Victor Rubens

Mrs. Granville Ryder

Mrs. Alfred Schiff

Mrs. Schlesinger

Miss Flora M. Smith

Miss Tatlock

Miss Van de Weycr

Mrs. S. Winkworth

Mrs. Edmond R.Wodehouse



xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES



321



The Lord Chancellor (Lord

Hersehell)
The Duke of Westminster,

K.G.

The Earl Beauchamp
The Earl of Dysart
The Earl of Lathom
The Earl of Wharncliffe
Viscount Barrington
Lord William Compton, M . P .
Lord Revelstoke
Lord Hillingdon
Alfred de Rothschild, Esq.
Baron Ferd. de Rothschild,

M.P.
Sir Fred. Leighton, Bart.,

P.R.A.
Sir John E. Millais, Bart.,

R.A.
Sir Thomas Brassey,K.C.B.,

M.P.
Sir Henry Thompson,

F.R.C.S.
Sir Richard Webster, Q.C.,

M.P.
The Rt.-Hon. A. J. Balfour,

M.P.
The Hon. Spencer G.

Lyttelton

Baron Herman de Stern
Hamilton Aide, Esq.
L. Alma Tadema, Esq., R.A.
Arthur Anderson, Esq.
Wm. Asch, Esq.
Gustav Aschenheim, Esq.
Gottlieb Bauer, Esq.
S. H. Beddington, Esq.



Alfred Benecke, Esq.
Egmont Bieber, Esq.
Leo Bonn, Esq.
Bernhard Bosanquet, Esq.
G. H. Boughton, Esq.,

A.R.A.

Ernest de Bunsen, Esq.
Julius Cyriax, Esq.
G. Ellissen, Esq.
O. von Ernsthausen, Esq.
John M. Fletcher, Esq.
Cyril Flower, Esq., M.P.
E. H. Friedlaender, Esq.
Henry Graham, Esq.
Paul Hardy, Esq.
Lawrence Harrison, Esq.
Robert Harrison, Esq.
Max Hecht, Esq.
John P. Heseltine, Esq.
Ferd. Hess, Esq.
Philipp Hirschfeld, Esq.
John R. Hollond, Esq.
Wynnard Hooper, Esq.
Lieut.-General Hopkinson
G. Howard, Esq.
Luke lonides, Esq.
G. Jacobson, Esq.
Henry James, Esq.
Sam. Joshua, Esq.
Albert Kahn, Esq.
Charles Kahn, Esq.
John Kemp, Esq.
J. M. Koecher, Esq.
Morton Latham, Esq.
H. L. W. Lawson, Esq., M.P.
Charles J. Leaf, Esq.
Walter Leaf, Esq.

Y



322



MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv



Julius Levis, Esq.
Arthur James Lewis, Esq.
George H. Lewis, Esq.
Wm. Lidderdale, Esq.
Arthur Lucas, Esq.
Henry Lucas, Esq.
Edmund Macrory, Esq.
Henry F. Makins, Esq.
D. Meinertzhagen, Esq.
L. Messel, Esq.
Carl Meyer, Esq.
Bingham Mildmay, Esq.
A. B. Mitford, Esq., C.B.
S. Morley, Esq., M.P.
Charles Morley, Esq.
Howard Morley, Esq.
T. Douglas Murray, Esq.
Gustav Natorp, Esq.
John Nicholas, Esq.



Henry Oppenheim, Esq.
Wm. S. Playfair, Esq. M.D.
Frederick Pollock, Esq.
Henry Pollock, Esq.
Edw. J. Poynter, Esq., R.A.
G. W. Rathbone, Esq.
Henry Roche, Esq.
George J. Romanes, Esq.,

F.R.S.

A. Rommel, Esq.
Victor Rubens, Esq.
John C. Salt, Esq.
Leo Frank Schuster, Esq.
James Stern, Esq.
Thos. Threlfall, Esq.
Henry F. Tiarks, Esq.
Albert Vickers, Esq.
M. Wetzlar, Esq.
F. A. White, Esq.
Henry White, Esq.



E. Oesterley, Esq.

And in the spring of 1886 I had the pleasure
and gratification of announcing the first series
to commence in the autumn of that year of
" The London Symphony Concerts," as I had
decided to call them, and under which name
they are still flourishing. To my utmost
satisfaction and delight the artistic success
of the first concert, the programme of which
included Mozart's Overture to The Magic Flute ;
Beethoven's Concerto for Pianoforte, Violin,
and Violoncello, played by Mme. Haas, Mr.
Richard Gompertz, then Professor of the Violin
at the Royal College of Music, and Signer



xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 323

Piatti ; Brahms' Second Symphony in D ; the
Good-Friday's music from Wagner's Parsifal ;
and the Prelude to the third act of Mackenzie's
opera, The Troubadour, was considerable, and
the attitude of the whole press, with one or
two exceptions, most friendly and cordial.
If I here quote from what the papers of the
day had to say about the scheme in general,
and the first concert in particular, I do so partly
to supplement future histories of Victorian
music, but also to afford my readers some of
the amusement which especially one of the
above-mentioned exceptions caused me and my
friends.

The Times. The dearth of good orchestral music
in London during the late autumn and winter months,
when such music is even more likely to be appreciated
than in the season properly so-called, has been the
subject of general complaint. Herr Richter's autumn
campaign is generally confined to three concerts,
and after that lovers of symphonic music who shun
a journey to the Crystal Palace are met by the vacuum
which art no less than nature abhors. To fill up
that vacuum many attempts have been made, but
none of them have so far proved successful ; none,
indeed, could show anything approaching the con-
ditions of permanent success which augur well for
the immediate future of the London Symphony
concerts. Mr. Henschel, their founder and conductor,
is, fortunately for himself, a man of business as well as
a sound musician. Before disclosing his scheme to



324 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv

the general public he collected a guarantee fund
sufficient to carry on his enterprise for more seasons
than one, even should the worst befall. Having
thus secured the nervus rerum, he set about engaging
an excellent orchestra quite capable of grappling with
the most difficult problems of modern music under a
musician who, although chiefly known among us as a
singer of great intelligence and refinement, can boast
of extensive experience and many achievements as
a conductor in America. Mr. Henschel's beat is
decisive ; he marks every point without confusing
the musicians by too many " cues," as inexperienced
and over-zealous conductors are apt to do. The
performance of Brahms' Symphony may be taken as
an example. It was worked out with minute care,
without wanting in spirit. The first and last move-
ments especially were played to perfection. . . .

The Daily Telegraph. Mr. Henschel has great
energy ; his enthusiasm is that of a thorough artist,
and he is a musician qualified by wide experience and
sound judgment for the conductor's delicate and
difficult functions. The performance of Brahms'
Symphony, conducted with admirable skill, was of a
high order and significant of the best possible results
to follow. . . .

Daily News. Mr. Henschel has already gained
distinction here in the several capacities of singer,
composer, and conductor, and his duties in this last
respect were fulfilled last night with care and in-
telligence. . . .

St. James's Gazette. Mr. Henschel deserves the
thanks of the musical public for instituting a series
of high-class orchestral concerts which, at com-
paratively short intervals, will occupy the autumn
and winter months from now until March. These



xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 325

concerts promise to be of great interest ; and the
programme of last night included no small number
of fine works. The orchestra is well composed, and
Mr. Henschel is already known to be one of the most
competent of living conductors. . . .

The Globe. Throughout the evening Mr. Henschel ,
who is favourably known to English amateurs as
singer and composer, and who has had considerable
experience in America and elsewhere as an orchestral
conductor, conducted with much ability. . . .

Pall Mall Gazette. We congratulate Mr. Henschel
heartily on his debut as an orchestral conductor. He
is evidently a master of that art. . . .

Standard. Mr. Henschel' s reputation as an earnest
and thorough musician is sufficient warranty that a
high artistic tone will be maintained throughout the
entire series. . . . The Allegretto of the Symphony
only escaped its customary encore by the firmness
and good sense displayed by the conductor in not
yielding to an absurd demand, and it is sincerely to
be trusted that the London Symphony Concerts will
set a pattern in the way of abstention from repeti-
tions. . . . Mr. Henschel conducted throughout the
evening without the score ; his labours towards the
attainment of success were thoroughly appreciated,
and at the close he was warmly called back to the
platform. . . .

Sunday Times (Nov. 21). New musical enterprises
are slow to win favour with our conservative public,
which beats every other public for the pertinacity
with which it sticks to its old loves. We may not
exactly be a " nation of shopkeepers," but our com-
mercial instincts are strong, and we like to feel sure
that we get a satisfactory quid pro quo when we lay
our money out. There should be every chance,



326 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv

therefore, for the individual who offers a good article
at a reasonable figure, especially when the article
supplies a particular want. Knowing all of which,
Mr. Henschel may " take heart of grace " and hope
one day to find the London Symphony Concerts
firmly planted on excellent soil and yielding the best
of fruit. That the sapling is safe for two years,
thanks to a substantial guarantee-fund, is a great
point in its favour. There will be ample time for the
roots to spread and gather strength. Really, though,
we ought to make up our minds quickly about this
new venture. To begin with, it fills up a decided gap.
In London proper we have no regular orchestral
concerts during the winter months, and there is no
reason why we should be without them. On the
contrary, the fact that we are so is a disgrace only
second to that which attaches to another vacuum
in our winter musical existence the absence of
opera. This admitted, only one question needs
follow : Is Mr. Henschel' s undertaking of a nature
to supply in worthy fashion the missing quantity ?
I answer, without hesitation, Yes. The eclectic spirit
that pervades his scheme, the assurance that native
talent will receive its fair share of exposition, the
excellence of the players who constitute the orchestra,
afford abundant justification for my reply, apart
from the promise of high achievement held out at
the opening concert in St. James's Hall on Wednesday.
Mr. Henschel' s capacity as a conductor has to be
judged from a lofty standard. . . . Like Richter he
conducts without book, and reaps all the consequent
advantage of an unbroken attention to what the
orchestra is doing. He has the latter well under
control, and evidently possesses the power of moulding
it entirely to his will. ... A numerous and enthusi-



xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 327

astic audience attended the concert, applauding Mr.
Henschel vigorously after each item and with special
warmth at the end of the symphony. Altogether
the new venture could not have been launched under
more favourable auspices.

Now for the precious Echo :

According to announcement, the first of sixteen
Symphony Concerts took place on Wednesday, the 17th,
under the conductorship of Mr. Henschel, whose bold-
ness in adventure decidedly exceeds his judgment, for
even the admirable Richter Concerts, with an artistic
combination too far in advance of Mr. Henschel' s
to be named in the same category, are seldom allowed
to exceed four, or at least (sic !) eight concerts during
any one season. There is certainly one feature of
Mr. Henschel' s enterprise deserving of all praise, and
that is, the candour which impels (!) the entrepreneur
to relieve the public mind from the fear that these
sixteen concerts will be poured out upon the long-
suffering ear under the specious guise of a " charitable"
enterprise. Whatever the London Symphony Con-
certs may ultimately prove to be, at any rate they
no longer mask the plain fact that they are a specula-
tion and, judging by the characteristics of the first
night's performance, one which may require more
charity to support than when, as formerly, that plea
has been urged for claiming patronage. The truth
is, and Mr. Henschel seemingly has yet to realise it,
that symphonic works have been, and can only be,
given with proper effect by orchestral performers
accustomed to play together under an experienced
chief. As a vocalist of the Teutonic order, Mr.
Henschel may continue to win the confidence of his



328 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv

German listeners, especially whilst he substitutes
enthusiasm for the purer canons of art (!), but to
maintain public favour for sixteen occasions, under
the assumption of giving symphonic works, challenges
an amount of criterion which neither past nor present
experiences render it safe to rely on. The instru-
mental works were fairly rendered and, perhaps,
with sufficient merit to form an advertisement for the
threatened fifteen performances to come.

I afterwards understood the writer to have
been a man who, a year or two before me,
had tried his hand at conducting a series of
orchestral concerts in London ; with what
success may be gathered from a story which
went the round of musicians at the time, telling
how the gentleman opened the first concert
with " God save the Queen," which he began
conducting in four -fourths time, heroically
continuing until Mr. Carrodus later also my
excellent and esteemed leader of the violins
whispered to him, " Try three ! "

Well, if the attitude of the public towards
the new enterprise left nothing to complain
of, that of my brother- and sister-musicians
exceeded my keenest expectations. Quite a
good many of the soloists whom I had asked
to appear at the concerts expressed their
desire, or their willingness, to do so "for
love " or else for what in professional language
is termed a nominal fee, and their list is a very



xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 329

notable one, including, among others, the names
of Lady Halle, Joachim, Arbos, Burmester,
Ondrigek, Sauret, Cesar Thomson, Ysaye,
Maurice Sons, Piatti, Popper, Hugo Becker,
Robert Hausmann, Jean Gerardy, Mme.
Essipoff, Mme. Haas, Fanny Davies, Agnes
Zimmermann, Sir Charles Halle, Paderewski,
Max Pauer, Mme. Albani, Brema, Evangeline
Florence, Nordica, Lillian Henschel, Hope
Glenn, Edward Lloyd, William Shakespeare,
Santley. The last named, most genial of good
fellows, returned the cheque I had sent him
after his first appearance at these concerts,
with the words :

. . . You are an artist and I am only too pleased
to have been able to assist you. I hope you will
accept my services as a slight token of my friendship
and goodwill toward you. . . .

Another letter of his of the same year, 1887,
was received by me in the United States,
whither I had gone with my wife for a short
professional tour after the close of the London
Symphony Concerts' first season. In it he
says :

If you have time some day I shall be glad to hear
how you are doing over the water, and what is doing
generally. I think I ought to go over again some
of these days. I like the American audiences ; if
they do not always like what I like, they know what
they do like, and you know what to give them, which



330 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv

I have always found a great difficulty in England.
There is such a deal of classical talk and unclassical
taste. ... I presume you intend carrying on the
Symphony concerts next season. Recollect I am
always good for one of them. . . .

All this was most gratifying and encouraging
to me, and I made up my mind to persevere.
Franz Liszt had been in London during the
season of 1886, and I would have given much
to have him play at one of my concerts, but
his age would not permit him to take part in
any but social functions in his honour, private
and semi-public, at one of which however a
reception given for him at the Grosvenor
Gallery by the late Sir Coutts Lindsay he
was persuaded, to the delight of the guests,
to sit down at the piano and play. I remember,
on the following day, meeting the then repre-
sentative of " Bechstein's," who, still quite
excited, told me to my regret I had been
prevented from being present how wonder-
fully Liszt had played on that occasion.

" What did he play ? " I asked.

" Why Bechstein, of course ! >: was the
answer.



XXV

DURING the summer of 1887 the Robert
Harrisons Mr. Harrison had taken a great
interest in the London Symphony Concerts,
even to the extent of most generously acting
as Hon. Treasurer had a charming house
near Henley- on-Thames, " Wargrave Hill," and
it was there, in August, I first met Sargent.
Already at that time some portraits of his,
sent to the Royal Academy from Paris, and,
among others done in England, that of Mrs.
Robert Harrison, had made quite a stir in
London art circles ; personally, however, he
was but little known in England, few people
as yet realising the tremendous power with
which he was soon to carry everything before
him in his truly triumphal progress. As
to myself I knew little more of him than
that he was a painter, but felt myself quite
uncommonly attracted by his personality from
the first. For one who was already thought
and made much of by those who did know
him and his work, he struck me as exceedingly

331



332 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxv

modest, inclined, I thought, to hide his light
under a bushel. He had built himself a little
floating studio on a punt on the river, where it
was a delight to see him, a splendid specimen of
manly physique, clad it was an exceptionally
hot and dry summer, I remember in a white
flannel shirt and trousers, a silk scarf around
the waist, and a small straw hat with coloured
ribbon on his large head, sketching away all
day, and once in a while skilfully manipulating
the punt to some other coign of vantage. A
very proficient executant on the piano, he was
exceedingly fond of music, a subject on which
he talked with the knowledge and understand-
ing of one who had made it a serious study rather
than a pastime. It was perhaps this which
brought us nearer and made us the good friends
I am happy and grateful to say we have been
ever since. It was less than two years later
that he painted the portrait of which the
frontispiece to this book is as faithful a repro-
duction as, lacking the colour, it is possible
to obtain of an oil-painting. I had only a
few sittings, certainly not more than five.
" Standings," I should rather say, for he made
me stand on a platform and sing from Tristan
and Isolde by preference whilst he was at
work. How I used to look forward to those
Sunday mornings ! For besides his always



xxv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 333

interesting and often most instructive con-
versation I could of course not go on singing
all the time it was a great delight to watch
him as he was constantly and intently studying
my face, talking and painting at the same time.
Now and then he would slowly and deliberately
recede about a dozen steps from the easel,
look at me steadfastly, stop for a moment and
suddenly, the brush lifted ready for action and
without ever taking his eyes off me, make a
dash for the canvas on which he then recorded
his impression, generally accompanying the
act by contentedly humming a little tune.

Never shall I forget that Sunday morning
in February '89 when, the final sitting over,
we put the wet canvas into the frame and,
in a hansom, took it to my house in Bedford
Gardens, where we were expected to luncheon.
My wife's exceeding delight and gratitude on
seeing the fine painting, and the unbounded
admiration expressed also by our other guests
dear Arthur Cecil and a Mrs. Toberentz, a
sculptor's wife and daughter of an old Wiesbaden
friend of mine, whom we had asked for Sargent's
special benefit because of her extraordinary
beauty seemed really to gratify him, and a
very happy jolly little party we were that day.

A week later my wife and I, with our little
daughter, were to leave for New York on a



334 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxv

tour through the States, and I remember the
day before our sailing as one of the busiest of
that year and a particularly memorable one.
In the morning it was Wednesday, February
the 27th I conducted a rehearsal of the Ninth
Symphony with the Leeds Choir, who had
come to London for the last concert of the
series that afternoon. After the rehearsal,
to my utter surprise, the members of the
Orchestra remained in their seats a most
unusual proceeding, conductors will agree
and my first bassoon, the most picturesque
member of the orchestra, with his fine head
and flowing white beard who does not re-
member that excellent musician, splendid old
Wotton ? stepped down with an oaken case,
out of which he took a beautiful silver inkstand
and a pair of silver candlesticks which, with
a few affectionate words, he presented to me on
behalf of the orchestra, touchingly adding that,
there having been a little surplus, they hoped
Mrs. Henschel would kindly accept it in the
shape of the little silver scent-bottle he then
produced. . . . Those dear boys of the old
London Symphony Orchestra how I loved
them ! The concert in the afternoon, con-
sisting of Mendelssohn's Walpurgis-Night and
the Ninth Symphony, went off beautifully,
and we hurried home as quickly as possible



xxv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 335

to receive Princess Louise who had most
graciously announced herself for tea, to say
good-bye to us. The afternoon was marked
by an amusing little episode. Before leaving
us the Princess had taken our small daughter
Helen into her arms, kissing her and making
her promise to write her a letter from America.
I was then accompanying Her Royal Highness
to the door when, feeling some one pulling
at her skirt, she turned round and saw little
Helen looking up to her and calling " Princess
Louise?" "Yes, dear?". . . "Have you got
a number ? " The Princess, smilingly, " What
do you mean, dear ?"..." You asked me
to write to you but what is your number ? "
... I still hear the Princess's hearty laughter
as she stooped down to the little girlie for
another farewell kiss. And Helen kept her
promise. Not long after our arrival in New
York she brought me the letter she had, quite
unaided, written to the Princess, and which
I forwarded in the original. It ended with a
postscript : " Please give my love to His
Majesty-ship Lord Lome."

But the day's work was not done yet. In
the evening I had to sing at a Gallery-Club
Concert and was quite ready for my rest on
coming home a little before midnight when



336 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxv

another surprise kept me awake with pleasure
a little longer still : a letter from Sargent,
to whom I had written thanking him once
more for the portrait, before leaving.

" My dear Henschel," he writes, " if I had not
a sitting to-morrow morning from Irving, I should
go and say good-bye to you at the train for the
pleasure of seeing you once more. I thank you for
having written, and must tell you what a great
pleasure it has been to me that my venture of painting
you has resulted in such a generous expression of
satisfaction on your part and Mrs. Henschel' s, greater
than I have ever met with, and that with my means
I have given you the pleasure that you always give
me with yours. And I should be quite satisfied with
my portrait if it created in you the sentiment of
sympathy which prompted me to do it. I hope that
you and Mrs. Henschel and little Helen will have a
pleasant and safe journey, and I shall see you soon
after your return perhaps at Baireuth. . . ."

Both that letter and the portrait are precious
possessions, and it would be difficult to say
which one should be prouder of. Sargent
was then a man of thirty-three and already
famous. . . . Ye Rembrandts and Titians of
the present day, "read, mark, learn, and
inwardly digest " !



XXVI

IN 1888 I invited Brahms to conduct some of
his works and Hans von Billow to play at my
concerts. Their characteristic letters in answer
to my request will, I think, be deemed of
sufficient interest to be quoted in full. Brahms,
from Vienna, writes :

DEAR H. I thank you for your kind invitation,
but am somewhat vexed at having to hear from you,
too, that common rumour of my dislike of the English,
etc. . . .

You really ought to know, having heard it from
me often enough, that solely love of comfort, laziness
if you like, and aversion to concerts generally, prevent
my going to England, but equally so to St. Petersburg
or Paris.

That my persistent refusal could be open to mis-
interpretation I am well aware of. It would, however,
be hopeless to explain all this, and to tell the people
how it has absolutely nothing to do with music if on
the one hand we here have a Bohemian Cabinet or
you over there a splendid opium- war, etc., etc.

It's all vanity anyhow !

Again thanks.

Yours, J. B.

337 Z



338 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi

Billow, from Frankfort -on -the -Main, com-
mences his letter with a most flattering com-
pliment, prompted, perhaps, by an orchestral
experience of the God-save-the-Queen-in-four-
fourths-time kind :

" Much as I should like," he writes, " to accept your
gratifying invitation to play at one of your London
Symphony Concerts and I confess I would not wish
to be accompanied by any orchestra on the banks of
the Thames except under your conductorship I fear
there are insurmountable obstacles in the way. You
may perhaps have heard that by undertaking several
functions in North German cities, I have permanently
tied myself to such an extent as to be hardly able to
spare the time for a longish trip, least of all to fix a
date so long ahead. To come to the opening concert
of your season is moreover ' superlatively impossible,'
for the reason that in that epoch falls the preparation
for the Mozart Cycle at the Hamburg theatre. My
advancing ' treacherous age,' too, renders the risk
of hurried journeys unadvisable. ..."

A second attempt on my part, during the
following year, was, much to my regret, equally
unsuccessful. This time Billow's answer came
from Berlin, and ran as follows :

. . . Rarely has a non possumus come so hard to
me as that which I am obliged to pronounce in reply
to your honouring invitation. But you will under-
stand how I cannot give up old obligations in favour
of very likely more interesting new ones. And
since the gift of ubiquity is, alas, denied me, there



xxvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 339

remains the absolute impossibility of playing in
London on March 6. I have to conduct here on the
5th and to play on the 8th, and every day of the
season is taken up with rehearsals and concerts and
opera in Berlin, Bremen, and Hamburg. I am heartily
ashamed to be obliged to meet your warm-blooded
eloquence with sober mathematical explanations, but
promises must be kept, if by not keeping them you
would be injuring other interests. Dunque i miei
piu vivi rincrescimenti ; sono dolente piu di ogni dire,
ma che vuole : " L'homme n'est pas parfait, mon
president," said the accused parricide. In haste
between two rehearsals of the Irish symphony, in
C. V. St.'s l presence, and Brahms' Double Concerto.
I am most truly yours,

H. VON BULOW.

Later however in the same year, after the
continental season was over and the London
Symphony Concerts had completed the second
year of their existence, Billow came to London
for the purpose of giving a cycle of Beethoven
recitals, and his bringing with him a protege of
his, a tenor who was to make his first appear-
ance in England under Billow's auspices, re-
called to me an amusing incident, of which
that tenor was the rather sorry hero.

I had, in the spring of 1886, found myself
arriving in Cologne one fine Sunday afternoon,
when, on the way from the station to the hotel,
my eyes happened to fall on the announcement,

1 Charles Villiers Stanford.



340 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi

on a big poster, of a performance, that very
afternoon, of Handel's Messiah. The cast was
a very attractive one, including the prima-
donna of the Dresden Opera and the famous
" Helden - Tenor " of another of the Court
opera-houses of Germany. I looked at my
watch : three o'clock. The performance, under
Ferdinand Hiller, had commenced at two. I
shall be just in time, I thought, for the great
air, " Thou shalt dash them." How I should
love to hear that splendid piece of musical
rhetoric rendered by an operatic ic tenore
robusto," who will not hesitate to give true
emphasis to that high A natural towards the
end of the air on the word " dash," and just
revel in it. ... So, after depositing my valise at
the hotel, I hurried to the Giirzenich where, as
I had anticipated, the bass was just finishing
the glorious air, " Why do the nations." Now
the orchestra struck up that fine introduction



etc., during which



the great tenor, who evidently thought him-
self the "star of the afternoon" slowly got
up, displaying across his faultless shirt-front
it was the custom then on the continent
for gentlemen to wear evening - dress at any
official function, even in the morning a huge




xxvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 341

gold medal, something like a first prize at
a horse -show, suspended from a red ribbon
beneath his collar. Having, with the last bars
of the introduction, raised himself to his full
height a fine-looking chap with a splendid
physique he inflated his huge chest and began.
I confess I was somewhat disappointed ; though
not bad, it was nothing out of the usual.
But wait, I thought, for that high A natural !
I got quite excited in anticipation when it
came to those two preparatory crotchets

- r~^t=E which to me are like the wide-

Thou shalt

circling, swinging movement of the wood-
man's axe before its tremendous force strikes
the tree. Imagine, therefore, my disappoint-
ment, nay, my indignation, when those two
notes were followed, not by that glorious



sweeping octave |p _!!==, but a piti-

dash them

able augmented Fourth : |jEfe^*= ! It was

as if a rider to the hounds, supposed by the
onlooker to make joyfully for a fence in the
stirring passion of the chase, all of a sudden,
instead of clearing it, dismounted and, opening
a gate, meekly led his mount through.

Well, it was that gentleman who came to
London in 1888 and was to sing Beethoven's



342 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi

beautiful song-cycle " To the distant Beloved."
A few days before the concert I accidentally
met him at a restaurant in Regent Street,
where I had luncheon with a friend who had
previously known him and, seeing him enter
the room and look for a seat, invited him
to join us. We were introduced, and though
inwardly flushing at the remembrance of that
Cologne experience when Mr. X had spoiled
Handel's air and my enjoyment, I was ex-
tremely polite to the offender. Luncheon over,
I took out my cigar-case, and, handing it across
the table, offered him one of the fragrant
weeds. " Oh, dear no thanks," he declined
with a deprecatory wave of the hand " if I
were to smoke a cigar now I could not sing
tenor for four or five days ! ' : This was too
much. Oblivious of all tenets of tact and good
taste, I burst out I really could not help
myself " Then, I am sure, you must, four or
five days before the Messiah performance in
Cologne two years ago, have smoked a par-
ticularly strong cigar ! "

Whether or not it be better for a singer to
refrain from smoking altogether is a question
which may be answered one way or the other,
but it seemed to me so utterly silly for a singer
who does smoke, to think the smoking of a
cigar on, say, a Monday, could in any way



xxvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 343

affect his singing on the Thursday following.
Either you know how to sing or you don't.
In the first case, nothing which otherwise agrees
with your health could possibly have an
injurious effect on your voice or your art of
using it. Tichatschek, the great tenor who
had the distinction of being the first Rienzi as
well as the first Tannhauser in 1842 and 1845
respectively used to smoke from ten to twelve
cigars a day. I heard him sing Lohengrin in
Dresden and very finely when he was sixty-
two years old. And I have in my possession
a photograph of another great Tannhauser,
Albert Niemann, taken in his eightieth year.
The lapel of his dress-coat is completely covered
with stars and medals, but the proud expression
in his face seems due less to these distinctions
than to the big cigar he holds between the
fingers of his right hand, evidently waiting for
the photographer to hurry up and let him have
it between his lips again.

It must have been about that time that I
was sitting in my study one morning when a
card was brought up to me, " Antoine
Strakosch." " Oh," I thought, " one of that
famous family of concert-managers I wonder
what he wants." Although now remembered
by but very few people, the name of Strakosch
was quite a familiar one a generation ago.



344 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi

The two brothers, Maurice and Max (not to be
confounded with the famous " Max and Moritz "
of Wilhelm Busch's creation) were impresarios
of high standing ; Maurice, Adelina Patti's
brother-in-law and agent, having also had
some reputation as a musician and teacher of
singing. " Show the gentleman up, please ! v
And in walked a little man whose outward
appearance at once suggested some connexion
with the musical profession other than British.
I don't know why it is, but somehow or other
that calling everywhere, except in Great Britain,
puts its hall-mark, or perhaps I should say
music-hall-mark on its professors.

Parry, except for his moustache, might pass
for an admiral of the fleet; Stanford for an
attorney-general; Elgar for a cavalry officer;
Mackenzie for the president of a Royal Medical
Society, but about the profession of a con-
tinental musician no mistake seems possible.

After introducing himself in perfect French,
which afterwards he changed into an equally
excellent English, as a cousin of his two re-
nowned namesakes, he brought me the friendly
greetings of the director of a well - known
Concert Society in Amsterdam, for whom my
wife and I had fulfilled some engagements only
the year previous, and, in the name of that
gentleman, came, he said, to ask if we happened



xxvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 345

to be free to come over immediately after
Easter for four concerts, in Amsterdam, Rotter-
dam, the Hague, and Utrecht. In that case
he was authorized to settle the matter as to
dates and terms at once, and pay me the sum
of 25 down as a sort of earnest-money. Con-
sulting my engagement-book I found, Easter
being still some time ahead, that we could just
manage four concerts then, whereupon he began
making suggestions for our programmes. If
so far he had already given proof of his perfect
familiarity with all things musical in those four
towns, he now astonished me by seeming to
be acquainted with all the programmes we
had previously given there. " In your place,"
he would say, " I should sing again Loewe's
' Erlking ' in Amsterdam, where the people
still speak of it, whilst Mrs. Henschel should
by all means repeat her inimitable rendering
of Schumann's ' Der Nussbaum ' " ; or, on my
proposing a certain song, he would reject it
as too serious, or for some other good reason,
and recommend another item of my repertoire.
Well, the dates having been finally decided
upon, he took out of his pocket-book a draft
on a London Bank, signed by that Amsterdam
Concert - Director, remarking that, as it was
made out for 50, I'd perhaps not mind giving
him my cheque for 25 in exchange. ... Of



346 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi

course not ! Whilst I was writing it, he begged
me to please not cross it, as he had no bank-
account in London. ... Of course ! . . . Just
then the luncheon-bell rang, and after asking
me if I would not do him the honour of lunching
with him at his club The Travellers' I think
it was which I gratefully declined, "Mr.
Strakosch " took his leave, and I joined my wife
at luncheon. I had hardly commenced telling
her of Mr. Strakosch's visit and its object,
when I abruptly sprang out of my chair without
more than an " Excuse me," and, snatching
my hat in the lobby, ran out of the house,
jumped into the first hansom I met : " London
& County Bank, High Street . . . Quick ! " . . .
and five minutes later I was informed by the
clerk that my cheque, the payment of which
I had come to stop, had been cashed ten
minutes before, and the one the rascal had
given me was a very clever forgery, not worth
a farthing.

No doubt my readers will have guessed long
before this that the man was a knave and I
a fool ; but such, on the one hand, was the
perfection of the gentleman's composure and
his talent for swindling, and, on the other, the
simplicity of my faith in the original goodness
of man that not until " Mr. Strakosch " had
actually"; disappeared from my sight did the



xxvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 347

first glimpse of suspicion dawn upon the horizon
of my intellect. Mortified, as it was only
natural I should have been, at finding myself
thus duped, I could not help admiring the
ingenuity of the fellow, and somehow con-
gratulated myself on having got off so com-
paratively cheaply. When, in the evening of
that day, in the artists' room at St. James's
Hall I described my experience to some of my
colleagues, they wondered how it was I had not
read of the man in the papers which, it seemed,
had been exposing his doings for the last month
or so. In one case his ingenuity had been so
extraordinary as to deserve special mention.
He had played exactly the same trick on a
friend of mine, a very famous tenor, who, like
me, fell into the clever trap, but, more fortunate,
or perhaps quicker than I had been, arrived
at his bank in time to stop the payment of the
cheque, also for 25, he had given to "Mr.
Strakosch." When this gentleman, on present-
ing it to the clerk half an hour later, was
informed that they had orders not to cash the
cheque, he, evidently aware of the existing law
by which you cannot arrest a man without a
warrant, took it very calmly. Expressing to
the clerk his wonder why this should be so, he
quietly walked out of the building. Outside,
however, what should he do ? Drive to the



348 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi

" Princes' Hall, Piccadilly ! " This was at that
time a very charming little concert - hall, ex-
cellent for sound, and in great demand for
chamber-music and other recitals. Having
asked to see the manager and introduced him-
self as concert-agent and impresario from Paris,
he wished to know on which dates he could
have the hall for four concerts he intended
giving in London with some famous French
artists. The dates agreed upon, the manager,
on "Mr. Strakosch" pretending to be ready to
depart, politely remarked it was the custom
(as if the fellow had not known and built
his plan on it !) to pay a deposit. " Oh,"
he quietly exclaimed, " is that so ? ... Of
course. . . . I understand. . . . How much?'
" Ten pounds." ..." Very well," taking out
his pocket-book. ..." So sorry, I am afraid I
have not as much on me ... oh no, wait a
moment, here is Mr. X's cheque, will that
do ? " " Certainly," replied the honest manager,
recognizing the familiar and, of course, genuine
signature of the famous tenor, took the cheque
after having made "Mr. Strakosch" endorse
it, and handed him the change in three clean,
beautiful Bank of England notes of 5 each !

Now I call this genius. When, about half
a year later, " Mr. Strakosch " his real name
was Ullmann, and he had actuallv been an



xxvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 349

impresario of some standing at the beginning
of his career was at last brought to bay,
caught and sentenced, it was with deep sym-
pathy and pity I thought of how useful a
member of society this talented man might
have been, had his moral faculties been led in
the right direction, and wondered on whose head
rested the responsibility for the shipwreck of
that life.



XXVII

IN June 1890 it was my great privilege to
conduct the orchestral concert which intro-
duced to the English public a musician-pianist,
who, by virtue of his striking personality no
less than the power and poetry of his inter-
pretations, aided, as they were, by an unim-
peachable technique, leaped with one bound
into the place Anton Rubinstein had held for
so long in the hearts of British music-lovers ;
and that notwithstanding the fact of his being
heralded at first as " The Lion of the Paris
season," an error of judgment on the part of
an over-zealous impresario which at that time
was, if anything, apt to prejudice the public
rather to the disadvantage of a newcomer
than otherwise.

Tempora mutantur ! Twenty-five years ago
musical events of real merit used to be an-
nounced by the mere mention of the works to
be performed and the names of the executants.
Even so innocent a designation therefore as

350



xxvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 351

" Lion of the Paris Season " was considered
somewhat unusual and against the canons of
professional etiquette. What would people
have then thought of advertisements such as you
may read nowadays, like " Mr. So-and-so, fresh
from his triumphs in America, or South Africa,
or Australia," or " Wagner's wonderful music "
to tableaux vivants from Parsifal at one of
the Music Halls " rendered in thirty minutes
by a double orchestra," or of the publication
even, intended to prove artistic worth and
superiority, of the actual " takings " of artists
during their " phenomenal " tour, etc., etc. ?
Will there, I wonder, be a reaction in this respect,
as is sure to come some day in our beloved
art, when licentiousness will no longer be taken
for independence, brutality for strength ; when
order and sanity will again take the place of
eccentricity and morbidness, when the highest
mission of music will once more be thought to
consist in the lifting of humanity for the time
being from all that is of the earth earthy into
the purer, holier sphere of an ideal Heaven ?
God grant it.

Well, to return to the new pianist. The
simple announcement, after his first appearance,
of his name " Paderewski " was quite sufficient
to fill St. James's Hall with crowds of enthusi-
astic listeners such as, in the case of a single



352 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn

artist, it had not known since the days of the
great Russian. Very soon there was hardly an
evening reception or garden-party, or other
social function at which the fascinating Pole
could not be seen, the centre of attraction,
surrounded by a host of admirers of both sexes.
On one of the unforgettable Sunday mornings
which it was my good fortune to spend in the
studio of Burne-Jones, playing the organ and
singing whilst that kind and gentle master
was painting, I took Paderewski with me to
introduce him to Burne-Jones, who, as I had
expected, was immediately and greatly struck
by the exquisitely delicate, pre - Raphaelitic
head, and on the spot asked its happy possessor
to sit for him a request the cheerful granting
of which resulted in one of the finest portraits
the pencil of the great master ever produced,
and that in spite of his considering my playing
and singing according to an entry in his
diary " good for the emotions, but bad for
the drawing."

What a lovable man Burne-Jones was ! His
very voice was sympathetic to a degree and,
with its musical inflexions, added a peculiar
charm to whatever fell from his lips. I shall
never forget the last time I saw him. It was
at one of those most enjoyable dinner-parties
for which the hospitable house, in Hyde Park



xxvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 353

Gate, of Monsieur and Madame Blumenthal was
famous. The spirit of gentle Bohemianism which
pervaded the atmosphere . on these occasions
was just after the heart of Burne- Jones, who
could not abide stiffness and conventionality.
The rules of precedence, for instance, were
completely disregarded, and you might have
seen " Monsieur " woe to the hapless guest
who, in the hearing of " Madame," accident-
ally spoke of our amiable host as " Mr." or,
worse still, " Herr " taking down to dinner
a fascinating young actress, whilst a diamond-
tiarad, stately duchess would graciously give
her bejewelled arm to the latest arrival among
musical stars. These charming dinners were
invariably followed by largely attended re-
ceptions, at which eminent singers and instru-
mentalists would vie with each other in
contributing, of their best, to a programme of
excellent music ; and once in a while, on a fine
summer night, the pretty garden, fragrant and
luscious in the darkness, which a few stray
Japanese lanterns hanging among the trees
seemed to make all the more impressive, would
re-echo with the sound of old-world madrigals
and glees, daintily sung by members of a
famous Amateur Society, conducted by an old
friend of the house. Really unique evenings
were these. On one of them, in June 1898,

2A



354 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn

Burne - Jones was there, rather silent and
thoughtful it seemed to me, as indeed he more
frequently appeared since the death, less than
two years before, of his beloved comrade,
William Morris, whom it had several times
been my delight to meet at Burne-Jones' on
Sunday mornings when I happened to arrive
early enough to find the two friends still in
the house, Morris ready to take his leave and
Burne-Jones to repair to the garden-studio to
work.

Burne-Jones seemed glad to see me. " Let's
go indoors," he said ; and we went into the
house and, finding the little back-room upstairs
empty, let ourselves sink down together in the
luxurious cushions of the broad oriental divan,
and there, the lovely music floating into our
ears through the open window, had a good
time talking of bygone days and, of course,
of Morris. " Ah, my dear fellow," Burne-Jones
said to me, " I feel as if a wall I had been leaning
against had given way. ..." On my offering
to come and cheer him up by a little music as
of old, " Do, my dear man," he said, " do come
and bring the little apple," meaning my
daughter Helen and we settled upon the
very Sunday following, June 19. On that
day the dear hand I had grasped in parting
was resting for ever. The great painter,



xxvn MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 355

the sweet friend, had died on the Friday
morning.

An event of the summer of 1891 worthy of
note was the evening party given for the
German Emperor and Empress during their
visit to England by Lord and Lady Salisbury,
whose guests at Hatfield House they were
for two days. On the night of the day of their
arrival a concert, under the direction of my
old friend, the genial Paolo Tosti, was to take
place, at which I had been asked to sing.

The historic old English palaces and man-
sions had always had a particular fascination
for me, and I wondered if by any chance I
might be permitted to go to Hatfield in
the afternoon of the day appointed for the
concert, so as to be able to see some of the
treasures of art and relics of history stored up
in that ancient and beautiful seat of the Cecils,
perhaps to have a look at the famous stables,
once Queen Elizabeth's banqueting - hall, or
even for a moment to stand in the shadow of
the famous oak-tree in the park under which
the great Queen is said to have been found
sitting and reading when her accession to the
throne was announced to her. 1

1 In reference to this incident in Elizabeth's life the Rev. Jocelyn
J. Antrobus, in an admirable little book, Hatfield, Some Memories



356 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn

It was therefore a most delightful and
welcome coincidence, little short of telepathy,
when a day or two after I had " booked " the
date for the Hatfield House Concert I received
a note from Lady Florence Cecil asking me
to luncheon on the day of the concert, " so that
she might show me a little of Hatfield House
during the afternoon." Lady Florence was
the daughter of the first Earl of Lathom, whose
house in Portland Place had been one of the
first of those which opened their doors to me
with a warm - hearted, generous hospitality
never to be forgotten.

Lord Lathom or rather Lord Skelmersdale,
as he still was when I first knew him had a
great fondness for music, shared by all the
members of his family, and the many occasions
when, quite informally and en famille, I
sat down at the piano to sing some of their
favourite songs are most pleasant recollections
of that period. Lord Lathom was a man as
kind and charming and courteous as he was
handsome and picturesque. Who that has
ever seen him as Lord Chamberlain, splendidly

of its Past, tells us that, " Dean Stanley, on hearing the story some
three hundred years later, threw doubts upon the possibility of
being able to read out of doors on a November day in England,
whereupon Georgina, Lady Salisbury, challenging his doubts, invited
him down to Hatfield during the month of November, and the
autumn sun being propitious, the Dean was forced to admit that
his doubts were unfounded."



xxvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 357

erect he was over six feet in height the
suppleness of his elegant figure emphasised
by the becoming uniform, the front of which,
down to the chest, was almost completely
hidden by a beard, most wonderfully soignee
and of purest silver-greyish white, could possibly
forget that striking personality ?

Perhaps it was Lord Lathom to whom I
owed the distinction of being asked to take
part in the Hatfield House Concert ; the
special request, however, to include in my
programme my cycle of songs from The
Trumpeter of Sdkkingen I understood to
have come from the guest of the evening,
whose grandfather, William I., had, it seems,
done those songs the special honour of liking
them perhaps on account of the words.

Well, the day of the concert came at last,
a fine, sunny, not too hot July day, ideal for
an excursion into the country. Needless to
say, I had not been slow in accepting Lady
Florence's invitation and, under her charming
guidance, took in as much of the endless
beauties of Hatfield House and Park as was
possible in the limited time at our disposal,
for, naturally, we wanted to witness the arrival
of the Prince and Princess of Wales, which took
place shortly before tea. Soon after that an
incredibly long procession of brakes and vans



358 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn

laden with innumerable boxes and cases and
trunks of all shapes and sizes and materials-
leather, wood, zinc, followed by half-a-dozen
carriages containing servants, male and female,
indicated the near approach of the " Aller-
hochste Herrschaften," l the Emperor and
Empress, who indeed drove up a few minutes
later, respectfully greeted by the villagers
lining the broad drive in the grounds as far
as the magnificently imposing gate leading
to the main entrance of Hatfield House.

The concert in the evening took place in
the splendid drawing-room famous for the
over life-size bronze statue of King James I.
standing in a niche over the mantel and a
test of the fine proportions of the room not
looking in the least too big for it. Whilst
at the State concerts at Buckingham Palace

1 The literal translation of the word " Allerhochst," invariably
used in official reference to the members of a German reigning
family in their own respective countries, is " All-Highest," though
perhaps " Very Highest " comes somewhat nearer the meaning.

English expressions, for instance, like " the very best," " the
very last," could, rendered in German, only be " allerbeste, aller-
letzte," etc. On the other hand, " Der Hochste " " The Highest "
is the epithet most frequently used in German pulpits, books, and
poetry instead of the word " God," so that it is not at all unlikely
the following actually appeared, as the story goes it did, in the
official Court circular of the doings of a Royal party which had
been on an excursion to some part of the country famous for a
remarkable formation of rocks :

" At this stage the ' Very-Highest parties ' alighted from the
carriages and, ascending to the top of the hill, deigned ("geruhten ")
to admire the wonders of the Highest."



xxvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 359

all the artists are required to be in their
places when the Royal procession enters, here,
it being a private, after-diniier affair, it was
different. Coming into the room we found
the host and hostess and their Royal, Imperial,
and other guests leisurely disposed in groups
and in lively conversation ; some standing,
some seated ; there had apparently been no
change made in the usual distribution of the
furniture, and the charming informality of the
occasion, of which the absence of the customary
row of little gilt chairs and settees was a most
agreeable feature, was further manifested by
the fact that the concert was allowed to proceed
in easy stages with plenty of time between the
different items for conversation, and occasional
changes of seats on the part of the audience.
My songs from The Trumpeter of Sdkkingen
came in about the middle of the programme.
The words were taken from Joseph Victor von
ScheffePs simple little romance of love, written
in blank verse and interspersed now and then
with charming lyrics. The whole book had
at that time achieved quite an extraordinary
popularity among the German people, to whom
a decided streak of sentimentality running
through the story seemed to have particularly
appealed. With few exceptions the lyrics put
into the mouth of the hero are of a wholesome,



360 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn

virile sentiment and real poetry, and of those I
had set eight. Among the exceptions, however,
there is one poem in which sentimentality is
carried to the point of commonplace, as will be
seen from the refrain at the end of each stanza :

God guard thee, dear, it would have been too lovely,
God guard thee, dear alas, 'twas not to be !

Naturally it was just that song which became
the most popular of all the lyrics in the book,
and when, in due time, a second - rate com-
poser had made an opera of the story in
which that particular song had been set to
music even more banal than the words, with
cornet obbligato, the success of the opera was
assured. It made the round of all the theatres
in Germany, and " God guard thee, dear "
became for a time the rage of the public, sung,
as it was, by love-sick maidens and lieutenants,
played in all the beer - gardens, on barrel-
organs, as Trombone solo, strummed on the
piano, whistled by the street-boys. Needless
to say, it was precisely that poem I had not
set, and it will be seen presently why I am
making a point of that fact.

When " my turn " came I accompanied
myself as usual the Kaiser happened to stand
not far off from the piano, his maimed arm
hidden behind his back, whilst not far from the



xxvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 361

tail-end of the piano were seated the Princess
of Wales, the Empress of Germany, and
the Duchess of Portland. When I had finished,
the Emperor addressed a few words to me,
for the last of which Lady Salisbury, whom I
had noticed in the meantime to approach the
piano, seemed to be waiting. And, indeed, the
moment the Emperor had turned away, Lady
Salisbury, pointing with a movement of her
head in the direction of the three ladies, in-
formed me that the Princess wanted to see me
for a moment. I hurried to obey the command
of that gracious and beautiful lady who, gently
turning her head toward her neighbour, said
to me, " The Empress wishes to speak to you "
and this is what fell from the lips of Her
Imperial Majesty :

" How beautifully you sang."

Low bow on my part.

" What a fine voice. . . ."

Another bow.

66 How beautiful your songs are. . . ."

Lower bow.

" But will you not also sing us that most
beautiful other one ? "

4 Which one does Your Majesty refer to ? '
I innocently ventured to ask.

" The one I am sure you know . . . that
particularly beautiful one. . . ."



362 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn

" I am afraid I sang the whole cycle,
Ma'm. . . ."

" No, no ... I mean the one . . . don't you
know the best of all. ..."

And as I paused for a moment wondering if
it were really possible she could mean the . . .
Her Majesty removed all doubt on my part
by exclaiming, " Don't you know . . . God
guard thee, dear, it would have been too lovely ! '

Tableau. I blushed, expressed my most
humble regret at this song not being in my
repertoire, as well as the fear that I could not
aspire to popularity such as that, and, with a
curt nod of the five huge emeralds in Her
Majesty's diadem, was dismissed.



XXVIII

'TWAS in the lovely month, not of May as
Heine sings but, of June 1893 that London
welcomed within its walls . . . By the way,
" Within its walls " reminds me of a celebrated
German actor who was also an excellent
advertiser. Whenever the Court-Theatre of
which he was a member was closed for the
vacations, he travelled and appeared " as guest "
at every theatre in the land, and one could be
sure to read in the local papers, the morning
after his arrival, " Since yesterday there ' dwells
within our walls ' . . ." with the result that
after a while he was simply known as " The
Wall-Dweller " " Der Mauerweiler."

Well, in June 1893 there dwelt within the
walls of London for a while an unusually large
number of foreign musical composers who
had come to receive honorary degrees at
Cambridge on the occasion of the fiftieth
birthday of the Cambridge University Musical
Society, founded by William Thomson, after-
wards Lord Kelvin. Among the new Doctors

363



364 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvm

of Music were Arrigo Boito and Tschaikovsky.
The prologue to Boito's opera, Mefistofele, was
on the programme of the musical birthday
celebration, and as I had to sing the part of
the devil and the devil of a part it is ! the
composer called on me one afternoon. The
first impression he made on me, a most agreeable
one in every respect, furnished a remarkable
illustration of the mystery of heredity and,
in the case of the two parents being of different
nationalities, of the strange way in which the
one sometimes predominates over the other.
I had never seen Boito before, nor known any-
thing about him save his opera Mefistofele,
which I greatly admired as a fine, grandly
conceived, sincere work of art. The moment
Boito entered my room, accompanied by his
London host, our mutual friend Albert Visetti,
there appeared before my mind's eye the
vision of my old home in Breslau in the days
of my youth. Every year during the famous
Breslau Wool-fair-week Polish noblemen would
come to my father's office and occasionally
honour our humble home by staying to the
mid-day meal. Those Polish land-owners had
always impressed me as the most charming
people I had ever seen. Their stately carriage,
graceful gestures, refined manners and address,
their unfailing politeness and bonhomie had



xxvin MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 365

made them appear in my youthful eyes the
perfect realization of my idea of a gentleman.
And now one of these stood before me in the
person of Boito, whose very smile, on shaking
my hand, I seemed to have seen long years ago.
I could not help telling him my impression,
when to my surprise he said, " Well, this is
indeed strange, or perhaps it is not My mother
was a Polish Countess."

Tschaikovsky, whom I had the pleasure of
seeing nearly every day during his short stay
in London, seemed to me, though then on the
uppermost rung of the ladder of fame, even
more inclined to intervals of melancholy than
when I had last met him ; indeed, one after-
noon, during a talk about the olden days in
Petrograd and Moscow, and the many friends
there who were no more, he suddenly got very
depressed and, wondering what this world
with all its life and strife was made for, ex-
pressed his own readiness at any moment
to quit it. To my gratification I succeeded
in dispelling the clouds that had gathered over
his mental vision, and during the rest of the
afternoon as well as the dinner in the evening
he appeared in the best of spirits. That was
the last time I saw him, and less than five
months later a very strange thing happened.
What to call it I know not :



366 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvm

The sketch programmes of the series of
concerts by the Scottish Orchestra, which,
under my conductorship, were to commence
in November, had as usual been printed and
published several months before the first concert,
which took place in Edinburgh on November
6th, 1893, and on the programme there figured
an Elegy for Strings by Tschaikovsky, written
in memory of a departed friend. I had
selected it as a fine example of the com-
poser's art as being deeply emotional and
impressive, even on so limited a scale and
without the colouristic wealth of the full
modern orchestra. The little work stood first
in the second part of the programme. After
the usual interval between the parts the
members of the orchestra had reassembled on
the platform, ready for me. As I made my
way through them towards the conductor's
desk, one of the gentlemen stopped me for
a moment and, handing me the Evening
News, pointed to the heading of a telegram
from Petrograd : Tschaikovsky had died that
morning ! . . .-

Those concerts with the Scottish Orchestra,
recalling, by the absence of a committee and
consequent perfect freedom and independence
as regards programmes and rehearsals, those



xxvm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 367

happy years of my first experiences in Boston,
were a great joy to me, though to conduct over
seventy concerts in Glasgow, Edinburgh, and
a number of smaller towns north of the Tweed,
and at the same time keep up the London
Symphony Concerts as I did from '93 to '95
was, with all the rehearsals I insisted upon hav-
ing, rather too much of a good thing, necessitat-
ing living mostly in hotels and doing a great
amount of night-travelling, and threatening to
make a sort of " quick-change artist " of me,
for usually there was, between the end of the
concert and my jumping into the waiting cab
to catch the train for London, barely time to
change from evening clothes to travelling suit.
But with all that, my heart and mind were in
my work, and their power over matter is truly
wonderful. Try, for instance, to move your
wrist and arm in strict rhythm as a mechani-
cal physical exercise, and after less than five
minutes you will be utterly tired out and forced
to give it up. The Ninth Symphony takes
more than sixty minutes' conducting, and at
the end of it you feel like doing it all over again.
At least I did.

At the beginning of the year '95 it was
with no .small gratification that I received the
Queen's command to take the whole Scottish
Orchestra to Windsor and give a concert before



368 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvm

Her Majesty at the Castle, an honour all the
more appreciated by members and conductor
as being the first time since the lamented death
of the Prince Consort that the Queen had
commanded and in person attended a concert
at any of her palaces. Princess Louise, the
Marchioness of Lome, had taken a most kindly
personal interest in the matter, and graciously
engaged to submit to the Queen the three or
four different programmes I had sketched for
Her Majesty's approval and selection, and to
superintend the printing of the chosen one,
one copy of which, for the use of Her Majesty,
had to be done on a foolscap size sheet in very
large, bold type. To the arrangements regard-
ing the stage and the accommodation of the
musicians I had already seen some weeks before
the event, together with the clerk of works at
the Castle, and now, on the day of the concert,
the 1st of March, I proceeded to Windsor
early in the morning to see myself to the
placing of the desks on the platform which had
been erected in the beautiful St. George's Hall.
The whole of that part of it which was behind
the gradually rising stage had been partitioned
off as dressing-rooms for the members of the
orchestra, who on their arrival in the afternoon
were received in the precincts of the Castle
by the Marquis of Lome, under whose interesting



xxvui MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 369

guidance the tour of the grounds was made
previous to the final rehearsal and the very
substantial late " tea " in the Van Dyck room,
following it. At ten o'clock we were all in our
places on the platform. Already seated in the
body of the hall were the Empress Frederick,
the Princess Louise, and the Marquis of Lome,
Lord Edward Pelham Clinton, several ladies-
in-waiting, and in the background all the
available household servants, both female and
male. I was standing in my place before the
orchestra, baton in hand, my head however
turned toward the door at the end of the hall
through which the Queen was to enter, and
ready to commence on receiving the signal from
the equerry stationed there. It was quite
exciting. Punctually to a minute at the ap-
pointed time, a quarter past ten, the equerry's
handkerchief waved the signal. Everybody
rose, and amid the strains of " God save the
Queen," resounding gloriously imposing through
the nearly empty hall, Her Majesty appeared,
leaning on a cane and gently supported under
the left elbow by a tall, magnificent Indian
attendant in native costume, and followed
by more ladies and gentlemen of the court.
A member of the orchestra, a dear old Scot,
told me afterwards, in the train, that that
moment had been the most impressive of his

2B



370 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvm

life. He trembled all over, he said, and had
the greatest difficulty in repressing his tears.
The concert went off without a hitch. The
Queen, to whom I had the honour of presenting
the excellent leader of the orchestra, my dear
old friend Maurice Sons, seemed to have been
particularly pleased with the performance of
Mendelssohn's Scottish Symphony, and ex-
pressed her satisfaction to me in the most
gracious terms. At half -past eleven the Marquis
of Lome presided, again in the Van Dyck room,
at a sumptuous and highly relished supper,
and a little after one o'clock in the morning
a special train steamed out of Windsor station,
carrying men and instruments, without change,
back to Glasgow, where on the night following
I conducted the sixty -eighth concert of the
season. During the course of it I received a
telegram from Windsor Castle : " Queen hopes
you and your orchestra reached Glasgow safely,
and that no one suffered from the fatigue of
the long journey." Needless to say it elicited
a storm of applause as I read it to the audience,
who no less than the orchestra fully and grate-
fully appreciated this gracious and touching
thoughtfulness on the part of our revered
sovereign.

Soon afterwards, having carefully weighed
the pros and cons and decided, though most



xxvm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 371

reluctantly, to give up my post in Scotland,
another cause for feeling deeply gratified
reached me in the shape of this letter :

GLASGOW, March 7, 1895.

DEAR MR. HENSCHEL We cannot allow you to
leave Glasgow without expressing to you our high
appreciation of what you have accomplished as
conductor of the Scottish Orchestra. You have been
unremitting in your attention to every detail of the
work, and most unsparing of yourself in the labour
which the perfecting of the performances entailed.
You will no doubt find your reward in the high
reputation you have won for the orchestra, but our
thanks are none the less due to you for it. Regretting
that you could not see your way to give us the benefit
of your artistic co-operation in the work of the
orchestra for a further period We remain, yours
very sincerely,

JAMES BELL, Lord Provost, Chairman of the

Choral and Orchestral Union.
JAMES SUMMERS, President Glasgow Choral

Union.

JAMES A. ALLEN, Chairman Scottish Orchestra
Company (Limited).



XXIX

THAT those years of my conducting the London
Symphony and Scottish Orchestras were full
of interesting incidents and experiences, musical
and otherwise, goes without saying. On one
occasion I remember having had particular
reason to be grateful for being a singer as well.
The soloist announced for one of the London
concerts had been a foreign tenor, new to
London, who had made a very favourable
impression in musical circles and at other
concerts during the season. At the rehearsal
on the day before the concert all went well,
but on the evening of the concert he had not
yet arrived at the time I was ready to com-
mence, which I always liked to do with un-
relenting punctuality. Much to my discomfort
I had to wait a minute or two, but then went
to conduct the overture, trusting he would
come during its performance. Returning, how-
ever, after it, to the artists' room, I found,
instead, a telegram from the gentleman, greatly

372



xxix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 373

deploring his sudden indisposition, and utter
inability to sing a note. His solo was to have
been Beethoven's beautiful " Buss-Lied " (Song
of Penitence), also one of my own favourites,
and on going back to the platform and announ-
cing the disappointment to the audience, I
added that, if they didn't mind, I would sing
the song myself, which I promptly did, accom-
panying myself, as usual, on the piano. After
the concert Deichmann, leader of the second
violins and the wit of the orchestra, remarked
that of course nothing could have been more
appropriate than the "Buss "-Lied being sung
by the conductor. Dear Deichmann ! Some
of my older readers will remember the genial
old man who had sat at the head of the second
fiddles for nearly a generation. Nothing, I
think, would have induced him to change
his place for one among the first. He seemed
to have known and lived up to a saying
of Joubert's : " II faut aimer sa place, c'est-
a-dire la bassesse ou la superiorite de son
etat. Si tu es roi, aime ton sceptre ; si tu es
valet, ta livree." Deichmann's livree was his
art, which he loved enough to be content
with serving her according to his limitations.
A shining example of conscientiousness. . . .
Requiescat in pace !

Another occasion I remember was a concert



374 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxix

by the Scottish Orchestra in one of the smaller
towns, not far from Glasgow. Saint - Saens'
picturesque " Danse macabre " was on the
programme, and about an hour before the
concert the librarian coolly informed me that
the xylophone had been left behind ! Those
of my readers who may not know what a
xylophone is I will try to enlighten on the
subject. It is a musical instrument made on
the same principle as and very much like those
little toy-pianos children love to amuse them-
selves with. Only whereas in those the flat
pieces corresponding to the keys of a real
piano are made of metal or glass, in the xylo-
phone they are made of hard wood. These
pieces of wood, gradated in size, are tuned to
scale, and lightly rest on tiny disks of wood
or leather, or on a bed of straw, so as to make
the sound vibrate, even if, naturally, only for
an instant. The sound produced by striking
these " keys " with little hammers is quite
pleasing, though perhaps somewhat weird. I
know of no musical work of serious intent in
which a more appropriate use of that instru-
ment is made than just this French Dance of
Death, especially where, towards the end, as
the orgy, before the cock-crow, is at its highest
and wildest, it illustrates the rattling of the
bones of the dancing skeletons in the grimmest,



xxix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 375

most wonderfully realistic fashion. To play
the work without the xylophone would have
been a wrong to the composer by depriving
the orchestration of one of its most ingenious
and characteristic factors, and yet, the librarian
having brought no other music but that re-
quired for the concert, there was no possibility
of substituting another work for it. It was
an awkward predicament I found myself in,
and I really did not know exactly what to do,
when all of a sudden it came to me : I knew
that in the score nearly every note given to
the xylophone was duplicated by the same
note in the oboe ; it was therefore not so much
the actual musical note of the xylophone which
mattered, as rather the mere sound of the wood
struck by the hammers. So I called for the
gentleman of the percussion, gave him the
xylophone part, and instructed him to play
the whole of it on the leg of a chair ! The
result was an unqualified success. Nobody
saw the chair, everybody heard the sound of
the wood, which even we musicians could have
sworn came from a xylophone. And why
not ? The chair was made of wood (xylon),
and it gave a sound (phone). Meeting the
composer in Paris the year following I told
him the story, and he was as much amused by
it as we had been at the time.



376 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxix

Socially too these eleven years were fraught
with interesting events of the most varied kind.
Every succeeding year seemed to see a widening
of the circle of our friends, among whom to
count Professor and Mrs. Huxley was one of
our greatest and most cherished privileges.
I was not given to entering in the diary
I have kept ever since 1873 anything beyond
the mere facts of the day's happenings, but
after our first dinner en famille with those
rare people I find the record of that event
commented on in the words, " Like a refreshing
bath in a clear mountain stream." And in-
deed I shall never forget the impression left
by those only too few and short hours of purest
happiness spent at the Huxleys' home in St.
John's Wood, one of those old-world, cosy
country-houses standing in their own grounds,
which, alas, are more and more disappearing,
even from the suburbs of London, making
room for hideous barracks - like tenements.
It was inspiring, elevating to a degree, to see
the great savant in the bosom of his family,
wonderfully simple, unassuming, sweet, affec-
tionate, and full of humour and wit ; full, too,
of mischief, which he seemed to relish with
the youthful mirth of a schoolboy. When a
few weeks later my wife, who had engaged
to sell autographs and signed photographs of



xxix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 377

celebrities at a Charity Bazaar at the Royal
Albert Hall, it was called the Silver Fete,
though I forget for what reason, wrote to
Professor Huxley begging him to let her have
some of his for that purpose, I should not
wonder if it was in remembrance of that
" jolly " evening I can find no other word,
incongruous though it must sound in reference
to that great and learned man that, in com-
plying with her request, he accompanied the
precious autographs with the following note :

MY DEAR MRS. HENSCHEL I enclose the auto-
graphs and four photographs, a supply which I am
afraid you will find in excess of the demand. I trust
you will appreciate the sternly philosophic air of the
photographs. If ever you have suspected me of a
capacity for frivolity, banish the thought this is the
real man \

Strangely enough, this was not the first time
a request for autographs had elicited from the
yielding victim a personal observation greatly
enhancing the value of a mere signature. In
the early 'eighties there prevailed among ladies
a sort of craze for " autograph fans," i.e., fans
of sandalwood, each rib of which was intended
for the signature of a famous man or woman.
My wife was the happy possessor of such a
treasure and when, in Boston, she sent it for
that purpose to Oliver Wendell Holmes, that



378 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxix

dear old man returned it with the following
lines :

MY DEAR MRS. HENSCHEL It delights me if I
can in any way please you who have lent so much
happiness to the air we breathe. I only fear that you
will find it hard to get a cool breath from a fan which
holds the names of so many warm friends.



XXX

IN the year 1898 I had commenced the writing
of a three-act opera, based on a novel by
Richard Voss, then one of the most popular
writers in Germany, entitled Nubia, which
my friend Max Kalbeck in Vienna had made
into a libretto for me. The action of the
story being laid in Italy I was only too happy
to find in that fact an excuse for spending a
good part of the winter in that country, hoping
perhaps to be able to visit the remote little
village of Saracinesco, three thousand feet
above the sea, in the Sabine Hills, the scene
of the first and second acts, that of the third
being Rome, and thus to get some " atmo-
sphere " or, at any rate, some local colour for
my work. For some reason or other very
likely I was to look at and engage suitable
rooms before letting the family follow I first
went to Rome alone, where, for a week or so,
I was the guest of a dear and deeply mourned
friend he died in 1908 Harry Brewster.

379



380 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx

Difficult as it must always be to convey in
words a clear idea of so wonderful and mysterious
a thing as a human being, it would require the
exquisite pen of a Henry James to do anything
like justice to a personality of such rare qualities,
such striking originality, to a character at
once so simple and complex as that of Harry
Brewster. American by parentage, he yet had
never lived in America, but made his home
in Paris, the city of his birth, and in Rome,
occasionally coming over to England for a
more or less protracted visit. Being what is
called a man of leisure, he was able to follow
the bent of his heart and mind and devote a
good deal of his time to the pursuit of science,
literature, and the fine arts, and did it with an
inborn fastidiousness as severe in regard to
these as to matters of dress and food. He was
both philosopher and poet, and not only was
but lived both. His books, The Prison, The
Statuette and the Background, L'dme pa'ienne 9
are masterpieces of style and logic, written,
moreover, with a keen and unerring sense of
beauty, making them fascinating reading even
to one who, like myself, must confess to never
having derived much pleasure nor, for that
matter, much benefit from the perusal of
philosophical books. His poems, too in
French of which only a few have, recently,



xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 381

been published, are both as to sentiment and
language perfect examples of what there is
best in the modern French School of poetry.
To all these accomplishments, which in his
almost bashful modesty he would have re-
pudiated as such, were added a charming
sense of humour, great kindness of heart, a
calm serenity of mind, and a rarely beautiful
body. As, looking up from writing this, my
eyes rest on Sargent's charcoal drawing of
Brewster on his death-bed, it seems to me I
have never seen a more wonderfully impressive
presentment of the nobility, the majesty,
the glory of death.

The stuff a man is made of can often be
gauged best by the knowledge of something
he did or said (as has been shown by the little
story I told of Alma Tadema), and the follow-
ing incident in Brewster's life will, I am sure,
give a better idea of his character than I have
been able to do in the preceding sketch.

In the large households of Italy, particularly,
I think, in Rome, it is not unusual for a family
to have a major-domo, that is to say, a sort
of superior cook-housekeeper who, besides his
salary, gets a certain sum per month to " run
the house " on. Brewster's establishment in
that splendid old " Palazzo Antici Mattei "
in Rome was founded on that system. His



382 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx

was the good luck of having a major-domo
who not only gave him every satisfaction as
such, but whom he also esteemed as a man,
and who, in his turn, seemed greatly and almost
affectionately attached to his master. It was
therefore a great shock to Brewster when one
day, in examining the books which were brought
to him at regular intervals for that purpose,
he seemed to detect some irregularities in the
keeping of the accounts. At first he ascribed
it to a probable oversight on his own part,
and, loath to believe in the possibility of dis-
honesty on that of the trusted servant, waited
for the next occasion, and again the next, until,
alas, he could no longer reject the proofs in
his hands. There was no doubt the man had
for some time past deliberately and systematic-
ally deceived and robbed him. Having grown
to be sincerely fond of the man, the discovery
caused Brewster pain amounting to a real
grief. This he carried about with him for several
days, unable to decide on the course that would
appear the best to be taken in a matter which
affected him very deeply. At last his mind
was made up. Seated before the writing-
table in his study, the proofs of the man's
guilt spread before him, he rang the bell and
asked for the major-domo to be sent to him.
The man entered, visibly turning pale at the



xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 383

sight of his master's serious face, and evidently
divining the reason for this unwonted summons.
There was an ominous silence in the lofty
room as the two men faced each other, until
Brewster broke it by quietly telling his servant
how great a grief it was to him to have found
that for some months past he had been cheated
by him . . . that he could only assume the
salary he had been paying him had been in-
sufficient, and that from that day on he would
double it. ... That was all. Doubtless a
risky thing to do ; one which might, in nine
cases out of ten, have proved an utter failure.
But Brewster knew the sort of nature he had
to deal with. There were no words of response
from the servant. Prostrating himself before
his master and kissing his hands, he silently
sobbed until Brewster bade him get up. The
man then left the room as one in a daze not
only a better, but a good man for the rest of
his life.

Such was dear Harry Brewster. To be
for some time under the immediate influence
of his soothing, yet inspiriting personality,
was a real joy to me. He showed great interest
in the opera I was writing by the way, it
was he who wrote the libretto to Ethel
Smyth's The Wreckers and enthusiastically
entered into my proposition of a trip to



384 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx

Saracinesco. He knew the very man who
would organize the expedition : a native of
the place, owner of one of those innumerable
little shops in Rome where you can find all
sorts and conditions of antiquities, from an
old Spanish carved shrine of the Virgin to a
broken nose or finger of a bronze Roman
emperor, from a patinated little vestal lamp
to a marble sarcophagus ; oil - paintings too ;
perhaps he was the identical man of whom it
is told that, when offering for sale two " genuine
Titians," and being asked the reason why one
of them considering the two canvases were
of exactly the same size was more expensive
than the other, replied " Ah, you see, this one
is still more genuine ! ' :

Well, the man his name was Belisario
was negotiated with, a day was settled upon
and a charming party made up, consisting
of Brewster, his daughter, and an equally
courageous lady friend for there was a good
deal of physical exertion, perhaps even a little
danger, involved in the enterprise a very
congenial and musical attache of one of the
embassies, and myself. At the last moment
another mutual friend, a very entertaining
American, begged to be allowed to join the
party, a proposal which was gladly accepted,
though not without some misgivings as to



xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 385

accommodation and commissariat, there being
no hotel at Saracinesco. Belisario, however,
vouched for the thoroughness of the arrange-
ments, of which he had the entire charge, and
on the appointed day our merry party started
for Vicovaro, the little wayside-station beyond
Tivoli from which the pilgrimage to Saracinesco
was to be made.

Alighting from the train we found Belisario
waiting and ready to receive us. His large-
brimmed, soft felt hat, wide, sleeveless cloak,
and high boots made the gun slung over his
shoulder look as if meant for attacking rather
than eventually protecting a harmless and
peaceful little party of travellers. Exciting
too was the sight of a row of six mules standing
patiently with their drivers awaiting our arrival.
After having packed what little of luggage,
and the few dainties in the way of food we
had brought, which we could not expect Belisario
to provide, on the back of those of the mules
which were not required for the accommodation
of the ladies or any of us who should feel in-
clined to ride, we set off. The lovely spring
day, the glorious scenery, and perhaps also the
novelty of the experience had given us all a
buoyancy beyond the usual, and the first hour
passed as quickly as if we had been promenading

leisurely on Monte Pincio instead of climbing

2c



386 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx

on the stony zigzag path of a rather steep,
rocky hill. Now and then the services of a
mule would be requisitioned for a change, and
before long the continued exertion as well as
the heat of the sun, growing with the day,
seemed to result in our taking our task some-
what more seriously. We should indeed have
greatly wondered how people could ever have
thought of building homes on the summit of so
high and bare a rock already, after the second
hour, trees and shrubs had ceased utterly had
we not beforehand endeavoured to make our-
selves more or less acquainted with the history
of the strange place we were going to see a
history closely interwoven with that of Rome
and the Popes.

Early in the ninth century, when Gregory
IV. was Pope, the Saracens had invaded
Italy, and after repeated successful raids forti-
fied themselves in some of the high commanding
places in the land. For more than a hundred
years they proved a scourge to the country, of
which they devastated whole provinces. When
at last, A.D. 916, they were finally beaten and
destroyed in the Roman Campagna, those few
that had escaped fled to the fortresses in the
hills, of which Saracinesco appears to be the
only one that has survived to this day. Thus
the inhabitants of Saracinesco have been for



xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 387

more than a thousand years the descendants,
from generation to generation, of those Moors ;
and Arabic names like Mastorre, Argante,
Almanzor, Margutte are still in frequent use
among them and preferred to those of Latin
origin. No wonder they are a proud race,
being able to look back on ten centuries of
ancestors. We were told, for instance, that
no Saracinesco maiden, though their beauty is
famous, will ever be found among the crowd of
picturesque girls in the Piazza, di Spagna for
the painters to choose their models from.
Marrying outside their own community is an
almost unheard of occurrence.

Well, we were approaching the summit at
last, and could see a few huts on a prominence
of rock almost perpendicularly above our
heads. Soon we met a few of the inhabitants,
who, prepared by Belisario for our coming,
had evidently been unable to restrain their
curiosity, and preceded the others to see the
arrival of strangers in their midst a most rare
event according to Belisario, who assured us
that it had been years since his people had
looked upon a " foreigner," as even the Italians
are called by them.

And now our little caravan had reached its
goal. Before Belisario's " Villino " we halted ;
our mules having been delivered of their



388 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx

burdens, these were taken into the house, the
only one worthy of the name as we soon
learned. By this time the entire population
had turned out to welcome us, and a truly
wonderful crowd it was. Both the women,
who appeared to be in the great majority,
and the men were extraordinarily handsome
creatures tall, supple, beautifully grown, with
dusky but clear complexions, large expressive
eyes, finely arched brows, and deep-black
slightly wavy hair. Their costumes, too, struck
us as quite remarkable, not only because of the
faded gorgeousness and great variety of colour,
but also by the stately, almost royal way the
people wore them. Every one of the women,
some of them carrying in their arms the
sweetest little bambini imaginable, wrapped
in shawls of strangest tints and textures, looked
to me, bearing herself like a queen, proud and
splendid in her rags, the very prototype of my
beloved operatic heroine, Nubia. Never shall
I forget my horror on seeing, several months
later, at the first dress-trial rehearsal on the
stage of the Dresden Opera House, the famous
Royal Court singer who had been cast for the
part, emerge from the wings in a scrupulously
clean, beautifully starched and ironed, brand
new, altogether irreproachably proper costume,
such as you see on Roman picture post cards !



xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 389

It required a good deal of tact on my part to
break it to her that that would not do ; and only
with the greatest difficulty could I persuade
her that beauty and rags are by no means in-
compatible, and that the generous, great heart
of a fine, lovable woman like Nubia would
shine only the more by contrast with her
beggarly clothes. Still, even then, at the
performance her make-up could not compare
with that of Scheidemantel dear to the
memory of Covent Gardeners by his splendid
Hans Sachs who impersonated, in my opera,
Argante, her lover. That was really perfect.
His dark-green, faded old cloak, for instance,
made purposely for the occasion, looked as if
he had inherited it from his great-grandfather,
and the rest of his make-up was quite in keeping
with it.

But to return from make-believe to reality.
It was difficult for us to tear ourselves away
from the rare spectacle these people and all
our surroundings presented ; but Belisario
announced that the various baskets and cases
containing provisions had been unpacked,
and a repast was awaiting us inside. Like
a king he bade us enter his palace, where
we hurried through a meal which under
ordinary circumstances we should have been
glad to lengthen ; but we were anxious to get



390 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx

out again as soon as possible. Before however
doing so, Belisario made another announcement,
rather startling, to the effect that we were one
bed short. The two ladies were to share one
room with two beds ; Brewster and I to have
each a room and a bed of our own ; but for
the attache and the American there was only
one bed, and one straw mattress on the floor.
The American, who it will be remembered
had joined our party at the last moment, was
up to the occasion. Witty and shrewd fellow
as he was, " Let's toss up," he called to the
attache : " What am I thinking of blue or
yellow ? ' : " Yellow," replied the guileless
attache. " Wrong blue ! You take the
mattress." And so thoroughly in earnest did
he seem that it was not until the next morning
we all, needless to say amidst great hilarity,
saw the joke, and realised that it would not
have made the slightest difference which way
the loser had guessed. And now we started on
our stroll through the village, a motley collection
of little huts built of clay and rough stones
without foundations, so that the floors were as
uneven as the roads themselves, and, like these,
paved with cobbles. Hardly any of the huts
we entered had more than just one room,
which in some cases we noticed had to accommo-
date a family of from four to six people, not



xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 391

to speak of the goat and the ass. The only
sign of an attempt at agriculture was now
and then an occasional patch of cabbages and
potatoes by the hut of some better-to-do
inhabitant. All the capable men go down
to the valley in the spring to work, remaining
there for months at a time, and we were
lucky to find so many youths in the village
owing to the Easter holidays.

All the time during our stroll we were ascend-
ing until we came to the old fortress, a small
plateau on the very top of the hill, in the midst
of which a huge tree, apparently very old
I forget what kind it was spread its branches
over the most interesting relic of the old days :
two cisterns built by the founders of the place.
To that spot we made up our minds to return
in the evening. I had been very anxious to
hear some of their music and to see some of
their dances, and all scruples as to the propriety
of such things on a sacred day it was Good
Friday, March 31, 1899 were overcome by
the promise of a generous supply of Velletri
and the consideration that, after all, there was
no one to consider. The priest came up from
Vicovaro only very rarely to minister to the
spiritual needs of the community, and Belisario,
to whom the people seemed to look as a leader,
a sort of elder or provost, raised no objection.



392 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx

So after a substantial tea we all repaired to the
plateau where, apprised by Belisario, the whole
population had already forgathered, prepared
for high festival. The scene was glorious
beyond description. Three thousand feet below
us the vast stretch of the Campagna was spread
out before our enchanted eyes ; a fine mist,
delicately tinted by the glow of the setting
sun, was beginning to rise from the deep ; blue
shadows were slowly creeping up to the rosy
tops of the surrounding hills, and in the far
distance we could just distinguish, phantomlike,
the majestic dome of St. Peter's. Some of
the older men had brought up their pifferi
(instruments similar to our Scottish bagpipes),
and, taking their places on a little elevation,
commenced tuning them. The rest of the
people had formed a ring, out of which stepped
two young women and two young men, the
latter with sheep-skins thrown over their
shoulders, looking veritable fauns. They placed
themselves in position, the two women opposite
the two men, saluting each other by gracefully
courtseying and bowing. There was a certain
solemnity in the action. The people, by re-
ceding a few steps, widened the ring to give
the dancers more room, the pipes struck up,
and now the dance, a sort of gavotte, began.
First the maidens had it alone, then the boys,



xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 393

and so for a while alternately, until the women,
pretending to run from the men, were pursued
and gently caught by their lovers. The dance
of the two couples now assumed a livelier
character, and it was difficult to say which of
the two maidens or youths were the more
graceful. When the dance was finished, there
was a short rest for the pifferari, after which
two fresh couples entered the arena and the
whole thing was done over again. There was
a charm and a fascination about it all which
it would be impossible to describe. Grace and
dignity are, no doubt, innate to these simple
mountain folk ; but how on earth and where
could they have acquired a perfection in the
art of dancing which even later Russian Ballet
experiences could not dwarf ? In the pauses
between the dances both executants and on-
lookers refreshed themselves by draughts from
one of the long -necked, large -bellied fiaschi
of luscious, golden Velletri, several dozen of
which stood in serried rows- Belisario had
evidently made his preparatory arrangements
with cunning forethought beneath the tree.
It was now growing dark ; the light of the
waning moon in the deep -blue sky, though
enhancing the loveliness of the scene, proved
insufficiently powerful ; lanterns were fetched
from the huts, whilst some of the men brought



394 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx

torches, by the fitful glare of which the dancing
was resumed. More and more couples now
entered the ring, quicker and quicker grew the
pace of the music, wider and wider the circles
of flowing skirts and sheep-skins, redder and
redder the cheeks of the dancers, we had at
last arrived at the Tarantella. The excited
onlookers, shouting every now and then at the
top of their voices a short musical phrase of




Ai - a - Eh !



unmistakably Eastern origin, spurred into a
state of frenzy the young dancers, who accom-
panied certain accents of the rhythm with
shrieks of joy, the wildness of which would
make a Scottish reel seem funereal in compari-
son. It was all very wonderful ; most wonderful
perhaps as we were conscious all the time of the
deep, silent Campagna far below and the stillness
of the Eternal City in the distance. . . .

Arduous and eventful though the day had
been, none of us felt inclined to leave so engag-
ing a scene. It was long after midnight when
at last we tore ourselves away and sought our
beds the attache his palliasse ; and the faint
sounds of singing and dancing reaching our ears
whilst we were waiting for " Nature's soft nurse,"
seemed to make reality and dream melt into one.



xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 395

Richer for the extraordinary impressions
of this memorable Good Friday, and deploring
the fleetness of the hours, especially the happy
ones, we set out on our return journey early
the following morning, accompanied part of
the way by nearly the whole of the populace,
to whom our visit had brought pleasure as
well as profit ; for who that has ever been in
Italy does not know the irresistibility of those
fascinating beggars, particularly those charming
piccoline when, holding out their dirty little
brown hands, they keep running beside you,
piteously crying " Ho fame, fame," all the while
smiling roguishly, well knowing that their
plump little ruddy cheeks are belying their
words.

We made for Tivoli which, through the
beautiful valley of the Empiglione, we reached
after five hours' walking, ready for the ex-
cellent meal mine host of the famous Osteria
delle Cascade prepared for us in a most oblig-
ingly short time ; and a few hours later, from the
train that took us back to Rome, we cast a
parting and loving look in the direction of
Saracinesco, where we had realised more than
ever before that " Nature is the art of God."

When not long afterwards we left Rome,
where, although it was my work which had
been the primary object of our visit, we



396 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx

certainly had not allowed ourselves to lag behind
other visitors in our zeal as regards sightseeing,
I could not help remembering, sadly appreciat-
ing its truth, a bon mot with which the late
Pope Pius IX. was credited : Giving audience
during a medical Congress to a number of
famous professors attending the same, and
addressing one of them, he asked him how
long he intended staying in the Eternal City.
" Three months," the professor was happy
to reply. " I am afraid," rejoined the Pope,
" you will not know much of Rome when you
leave." Then, turning with the same question
to another, whose answer was " Four weeks "
" Well," said the Pope, " you'll see a good deal
of Rome." Upon the third expressing pro-
found regret at his visit being necessarily
limited to ten days " Ah," exclaimed His
Holiness, " you'll see all Rome ! ' :

Alas ! we had been of the " Three months "
species.

But I fear I must leave off some time or
other, though, as regards material, I am sure
I could go on for quite a while yet ; but, having
come to the end of the century, I might as well
let, this be the end of the book too. In laying
down my pen and taking leave of those of my
readers who have been patient enough to follow



xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 397

me thus far, I cast a last surveying glance over
the past and, with feelings of sadness and
keen disappointment, realise how grievously
short of my aspirations and endeavours has
fallen what I have been able to accomplish
in my life. Is it perhaps that my natural
talents have been too diverse I even dabbled
in painting and often regretted not having
chosen it as a profession and that instead
of concentrating all my energies upon one
object from the beginning, I allowed them to
be scattered over too many, thus achieving
nothing notable in any ? Two things only
I can think of, which conscience permits me
to contemplate with something resembling
satisfaction. One is : I have never betrayed
the ideal of my art by consciously stooping
to the unworthy, to the commonplace. The
other : Music in England at this moment is
on a very high level. Nowhere in the world,
for instance, can there now be found orchestras
superior to the best we have here. If it really
could be, as generous and forbearing friends
would have me believe, that by founding, thirty
years ago, at a time when there was no oppor-
tunity of hearing orchestral music during the
winter season in London proper, the London
Symphony Concerts, and in the face of great
difficulties conducting them for eleven years, I



398 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx

have given the impetus, or even in some
measure contributed, to the marvellous develop-
ment of Music, creative and recreative, in this
beloved land, I should die content in the
thought of not, after all, having lived in vain.



INDEX



Abbey, Edwin A., 231-2
Alexander, Sir George, 224
Alice, Princess, 93-4
Alma Tadema, Sir Lawrence

and Lady, 147
Anderson, Rev. James, 69
Anderson, Mary, 223
Archer, Miss, 144
Auer, Leopold, 59

Bailey, Lillian, 182, 238, 253, 268
Barth, Richard, 80-81
Bayreuth, 132
Beecher, Henry Ward, 245
Bergheim, John S., 191
Blumenthal, Monsieur et

Madame, 353
Boito, Arrigo, 364
Brahms, Johannes, 45, 54, 73,

97 and ff., 313, 337
Brema, Marie, 211
Brewster, Harry, 379
Broadwoods, the, 75, 152
Brooke, Stopford A., 225
Browning, Robert, 220, 251
Biilow, Hans von, 31, 337
Burne-Jones, Sir Edward, 352

Costa, Sir Michael, 181
Cowen, Sir Frederic, 26, 168
Crawford, F. Marion, 255
Cui, Cesar, 58
Cusins, 168, 237

Damrosch, Dr. Leopold, 12
Davidoff, Charles, 55
Davies, Mary, 187
Deichmann, Carl, 373

Edinburgh, Duke of, 216
Elgar, Sir Edward, 168, 344
Eliot, George, 220
Elson, Louis C., 286
Essipoff, Madame, 59, 78
Eugenie, the Empress, 214
Ezechiel, Moie, 35



, Arthur, 268
Norman, 224



Franck, Eugen, 25
Frederick William, Crown Prince
of Germany, 52

Goetze, Prof., 23
Goldschmidt, Otto, 313
Grimm, Julius Otto, 80
Grosse, Theodor and Hedwig,
308

Haas, Madame, 14, 322

Halle, Sir Chas., 177, 186, 222, 269

Harrison, Robert, 331

Hatfield House, 355

Hausmann, Robert, 35

Haydenville, 296

Hecht, Edward, 187

Heermann, Hugo, 88

Henschel, George, parentage, 3 ;
first music lessons, 13 ; first
appearance as a pianist, 14 ;
as a singer, 15 ; in Leipsic,
20 ; with Liszt in Weimar,
30; concert with Rubin-
stein, 32 ; in Berlin, 34 ;
his canine friend, Severe,
35 ; at the Nether-Rhenish
festivals, 44, 75, 165 ; first
meeting with Brahms, 45 ;
in Vienna, 54, 73 ; in
Russia, 55, 136 ; at the
Kiel festival, 76 ; in Paris,
77 at the Minister festival,
80 touring with Brahms,
84 at the New Palace,
Darmstadt, 93 ; the Brahms
diary, 97 ; at Bayreuth,
132 ; first London season,
141 ; Belgrave Square
Soiree, 168 ; with Rubin-
stein at Windsor Castle,
173 ; first Oratorio in Man-
chester, 180 ; from Belfast
by special train, 182 ; in
Berlioz' Faust, 187 ; in
Tunis and Algeria, 193 ;
the Kaid's letter, 209 ;
Soiree at Marlborough



399



400



MUSINGS AND MEMORIES



House, 213 ; at Clarence
House, 216 ; at Ascot, 234 ;
engagement to Miss Bailey,
238 ; first journey across
the Atlantic, 239 ; first
visit to Boston, 252 ; the
Boston Symphony Or-
chestra, 259 ; life in Boston,
261 ; in the country, 296 ;
Spiritualistic stance, 303 ;
return to Europe, 308 ; the
London Symphony Con-
certs, 318 ; Handel's " Thou
shalt dasli them," 340 ; the
false " Strakosch," 343 ;
Hatfield House party, 355 ;
the Scottish Orchestra, 366 ;
Command Concert at Wind-
sor Castle, 367; in Rome, 379
Hesse, Landgravine of, 88
Hesse-Barchfeld, Princess of, 88
Higginson, Henry Lee, 253, 258,

295

Hipkins, Alfred James, 156
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 377
Holroyd, Sir Charles, 233
Houghton, Lord, 251
Howe, Julia Ward, 255
Huxley, Professor, 376
Huxley, Nettie, 304

Imperial, the Prince, 213
Irving, Sir Henry, 223

James, Henry, 252, 266, 317

James, William, 303

Joachim, Joseph, 34, 48, 49, 75,

76, 179, 222
Joachim, Madame, 39
Joachim, Mrs. Henry, 158

Kalbeck, Max, 111, 379
Kitson, Sir James, 251

Lang, B. J., 268
Lathom, Lord, 356
Leighton, Lord, 222
Leschetitsky, 58
Levi, Hermann, 116, 134
Lewes, George Henry, 220
Lewises, the George, 158
Lewis, Kate and Arthur, 162
Lind, Jenny, 310
Liszt, Franz, 30, 330
Lloyd, Edward, 182, 187
Louise, Princess, 320, 335, 368



Mackenzie, Sir Alexander, 137,

168, 344

Martineau, Edith and Gertrud, 69
Maszkowski, 84
Moscheles, Ignace, 21
Muncacszi, 77

Norman-Neruda, Mme. (Lady
Halle), 222, 269

Paderewski, 350

Parry, Sir Hubert, 168, 344

Patti, Adelina, 138

Piatti, Alfredo, 154, 222, 269, 323

Redeker, Augusta (Lady Semon),

43

Rietz, Julius, 24
Rubinstein, Anton, 31, 42, 59,

136, 173
Rubinstein, Nicolai, 59

Santley, Sir Charles, 182, 329
Sarasate, Pablo de, 166
Sargent, John S., 331
Scheidemantel, Carl, 389
Schlesinger, Dr. Max, 151, 249
Schnorr von Carolsfeld, 17
Schumann, Clara, 39, 41, 288
Schuvaloff, Count Paul, 58
Semon, Sir Felix, 43, 141
Semon, Lady. See Redeker,

Augusta

Sexton, Selina, 143
Simrock, Fritz, 39, 124
Smyth, Ethel, 176, 214
Sons, Maurice, 370
Stanford, Sir Charles, 137, 168,

339, 344
" Strakosch," 343

Tausig, Carl, 31, 33
Terry, Ellen, 223
Thallon, Robert, 245
Theatres, 222
Thompson, Lady, 163
Tschaikovsky, 60, 364, 365

Verdi, Giuseppe, 165, 166
Victoria, Queen, 173, 368
Visetti, Albert, 364

Whistler, James M'Neill, 160
William I., German Emperor, 53
William II., German Emperor,
355

Zichy, Count, 77



Printed by R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, Edinburgh.




Henschel, (Sir) George

MiiQTficre o _ a />

FACULTY OF
MUSIC LIBRARY

DATE DUE



1918



MON-THUR 8:45-9:15

FRIDAY 8 : 45-5 : 45

SATURDAY 10-4:45

FINES